#Haunted on Bourbon Street | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elijahstwink · 6 months ago

Note

i also have the fantasy of fucking elijah in red door mode yooo 😳 ... but if you ever feel inspired and want to write smut abt it , Im interested in reading it ofc,, and there is also just so few red door elijah shit out there 💔

𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓖𝓸

(I’d let him punch me holy this gif is hot)

Your boyfriend is going through a rough time. You help him feel better ;)

Thank you for the request anon! I always feel like writing dark!Elijah smut so this was so fun! It’s also the freakiest thing I’ve written lol. I hope you enjoy - Dex

Warnings: Blood play, Spitting, Choking, Slapping, Oral F!receiving, Dom!Elijah, Sub!reader, Elijah’s pretty mean, overstimulation, blood drinking, degradation, use of slut, whore etc

Seperate warning for this one. This has CNC! (Aka Reader consents for Elijah not to stop when she asks him too)

Your white dress billows behind you as you sprint down the hallway and towards the red door. Your bare feet burn at each step on ragged tile. You glance back to see Elijah turn the corner. His stone cold face and bare chest are covered in blood, all emotion void from his expression. Desperation fuels your speed, your legs burning and your lungs screaming as adrenaline courses through you. Elijah follows at a steady pace, his deliberate steps echoing, his breathing animalistic. He could catch you in an instant, but he prefers the thrill of the chase. He wants to savor your fear, your pain.

His footsteps are unnervingly close as you near the door. Just a little farther…

You slam into the red wood, pain shooting through your arm as you grasp the brass doorknob. It’s locked. You pound on the door, scream, and glance back in terror as Elijah approaches.

“Elijah, please!” you plead, but he keeps coming. This isn’t your Elijah, the kind and noble man you loved. This is a monster.

You turn back to the door, pounding and screaming for help, but it’s too late. Elijah’s hand clamps onto your upper arm, yanking you toward him. You struggle, but his grip is unbreakable. His eyes darken, veins pulsing as he opens his mouth, revealing sharp fangs glinting in the darkness.

Elijah jolts upright in bed, his body drenched in sweat and trembling. Nightmares of hurting you plague him every night since the incident with his mother. The red door haunts his mind, and he can no longer ignore it.

Breathing deeply, Elijah clutches his hair and turns to watch you sleep. Usually, this sight calms him, reminding him that he isn’t the blood-covered man in his dreams. That red door Elijah is just a fragment of himself, a dark fraction everyone has.

But tonight is different. The dreams are more vivid, leaving him feeling feral and dangerous. Every small sound or touch threatens to make him lose control. He needs blood.

Elijah carefully slips out of bed, pulling on grey sweatpants. He moves silently through the dark compound, descending the staircase to the large kitchen. He rounds the island, opens the blood fridge, and light floods the dark space. He grabs three blood bags and rips into one.

As the blood overtakes his senses, veins web below his eyes. He grips the marble countertop harder, ripping open the second bag, anger rising. The taste of blood makes red door Elijah creep to the surface.

“Lijah?” you call from the doorway, wrapped in a silk nightgown. Elijah’s head snaps up, his red eyes meeting yours as the marble edge crumbles in his hand. You rush to him, but before you can reach him, he grabs you by the neck, pinning you against the wall.

Despite his aggressive state, you’re not scared. You’ve been worried for him since he returned, his personality flipping randomly between normal and red door Elijah. The worst was on Bourbon Street, when he tried to rip out a man's heart for bumping into you. Red door Elijah is possessive, never letting you out of his sight, fearing that if you walk away, he’ll start chasing you like in his dreams.

Elijah's grip on your neck is firm but not painful, and you see the conflict in his eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay, my love,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks and tracing the veins with your fingertips until they fade.

Elijah’s eyes return to their regular onyx shade, guilt washing over him as he releases your neck and drops the empty blood bag.

“Shh, you’re alright, I’m alright,” you comfort him, wrapping your arms around him as he breathes heavily into the crook of your neck.

“I- I don’t know what to do, I crave you,” Elijah growls into your skin, his fangs gently scratching along your pulse point. Your eyes shut at the contact, but an idea pops into your head. A crazy, probably stupid idea... but an idea nonetheless.

“Perhaps you need to release all the pent up anger.” You suggest carefully. Elijah pulls away from your neck and stares at you in confusion.

“What do you mean?” He places his hands on the wall either side of your head, keeping you trapped against him. You can tell by the look in his eye that he definitely knows what you mean.

“I mean,” You rest your hand flat on Elijah’s bare chest, sliding it down to cup him over his sweatpants. “Let go, take it all out on me.” You gaze up at him innocently, something you know drives him nuts. Elijah swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement.

“No y/n. I wouldn’t be myself, I could hurt you.” Elijah shakes his head, already feeling his alternate personality taking control as his cock thickens under your touch.

“That’s the thing, you won’t hurt me. And as soon as you prove that to yourself, you can start to move past this.” You explain, slipping your hand under his waistband and taking hold of his erection, his length warm in you grasp.

You completely believe what you’re telling him. You know that he would never hurt you if not for pleasure, but that doesn’t stop you feeling like this may be a mistake. After all, Elijah is pretty dominant in bed already. If normal Elijah can edge you for hours or make you cum so much you’re begging for him to stop. Who knows what red door Elijah will do.

“Do you kn-“ Elijah interrupts himself with a deep groan as you push his pants to his feet and bring your unoccupied hand down to play with his balls, rolling them between your fingers. You can’t tear your gaze from his swollen cock and the bead of arousal gathering at the tip as wetness builds between your legs. You could mentally pat yourself on the back right now for not dropping to your knees and licking it up.

He suddenly grips your wrist, rough enough to leave a mark, making you gasp in surprise and release your hold on him. When you look up, you see that his eyes have returned to that crimson shade with veins underneath them. He grabs your neck with his free hand and leans down till your faces are inches apart.

“Do you know what you are asking for?” He breaths against your lips, tightening his hold when you nod. “Words.” He commands sternly.

“Yes, Elijah.” You squeak. He smirks at you, the veins flowing under his eyes.

“And you are aware that if you say stop, I won’t.” Elijah growls. You can tell he’s holding back, needing your consent before doing anything more.

“I know. I want you…” You murmur, bravely grabbing at his crotch again before whispering in his ear, “to ruin me.”

You can visibly see when red door Elijah fully takes over, any apprehension within him vanishes as he suddenly rips your night gown off your body and steps out of his pants, leaving you both naked.

“I didn’t mean here!” You whisper, looking around anxiously. The kitchen is one of the main rooms of the compound. If anyone were to wake up it’s highly likely they’d come to this room.

You squeak as Elijah lifts you onto the centre island and pushes you to lay flat on it. The cold marble countertop against your back sends chills down your spine as Elijah stands between your legs. His eyes are clouded,

“What if someone walks in?” You ask as Elijah bends your knees so that your feet are on the counter and your core is exposed. Elijah doesn’t respond, instead grabbing the last blood bag and holding it over you with a smirk.

You don’t have time to even question what the hell he’s planning before he rips the plastic in half with his hands, drenching you in blood. God this man is lucky you love him because no other human would still be turned on while covered in blood. Elijah leans down so you are face to face, his chest is getting covered in blood now as well.

“If anyone walks in here,” Elijah dips a finger between your breasts, “I’ll snap their neck.” He growls, sucking on his now bloody finger, moaning at the taste.

Red door Elijah doesn’t seem to be the slow and steady type. His movements are rough and almost crazed as he grips your thighs and pulls your legs over his shoulders. Now eye level with your blood covered cunt, Elijah doesn’t hesitate to practically devour you. The filthy sound of his mouth slurping up the mix of blood and arousal between your folds echoes throughout the kitchen. You release a choked moan as he sucks harshly on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Normal Elijah usually starts soft and gradually builds your pleasure to its peak. So this unfamiliar pace fills you with an uncomfortable sensitivity, causing you to grip his hair in both your hands and try to push his head away. Elijah releases a disapproving grunt at your actions. He moves his grip from your thighs to your wrists and pins them straight down at your sides. Your hands clench helplessly at the sleek countertop in an attempt to find something to grip as you squirm with oversensitivity.

When your wrists are tugged on slightly, you lift your head for the first time to watch the man between your legs. Elijah’s face is coloured crimson and veins are moving beneath his skin. A whimper passes your lips when his tongue thrusts inside you and his red eyes meet yours. His gaze is intense and demanding, practically shouting ‘behave’. You throw your head back against the marble with a loud moan as Elijah starts fucking you with his tongue. The feeling of the pointed muscle curling against your sweet spot has you arching your back. Sharp stabs of overstimulation are turning into waves of pleasure, causing you to clench your thighs around his head.

“E-Elijah I’m so close.” You wail, all your pleasure knotting together, building up in your lower stomach. Elijah hums in approval, his tongue working faster. and his nose nudging against your clit. Your moans increase in pitch as you’re brought closer to the edge, your hips jerking and your legs starting to shake. It doesn’t take more then a few thrusts of Elijah’s tongue against the spongy spot inside you before you’re coming, wailing in pleasure and practically grinding on your boyfriends face as you get lost in the euphoric feeling. Your legs are almost vibrating with the intensity of their shaking and your walls are pulsating around Elijah’s tongue as you come down from your orgasm.

Elijah pulls away quite suddenly, releasing his bruising grip on your wrists and dropping your legs from his shoulders. “Stand up.” He orders, taking a step backwards. You would have given him a ‘are your serious right now?’ type of look, if you weren’t too out of it. Instead you stay lying across the counter, trembling as you come down from your high. After a moment of silence you manage to speak out, “Elijah, Can’t.”.

“I said,” he grabs you under your arms and hauls you upwards so you are standing on shaking legs, all your weight being supported by him, “stand up.” He seethes, releasing his grip.

Your knees instantly buckle underneath you and you fall into Elijah’s chest. You would have hit the ground if not for him wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you against his chest and smirking at your feeble state.

“My naughty girl,” Elijah tugs your hair so that your head swings back, your eyes meeting his, “can’t even follow a simple task, hm?” He taunts.

His face has returned to normal, and he seems to have wiped the blood from around his mouth at some point. Elijah’s eyes are clouded with more than lust and you can see the red door version of him staring back at you. He usually talks much more during sex, and you can’t deny that you miss the comforting praise.

That thought is literally smacked away as Elijah’s palm meets your cheek in a light slap. You probably look like an idiot for a split second as you process what he just did.. and how much you liked it. You release a drawn out moan as he repeats the action before grabbing your jaw, holding your head up to his and smirking.

“Do you like that?” Elijah chuckles as you flush in embarrassment.

“If you wish to act like a slut, then I will treat you as such. Open.” He growls, pulling at your jaw as you open your mouth. Red Door Elijah is seemingly full of surprises, as he lines up his mouth with yours and spits. The feeling of someone else’s spit in your mouth would likely make you throw up. But this was Elijah, your boyfriend and the love of your life so of course it feels good. A rush of arousal wets your spent cunt as you gurgle slightly.

Elijah clamps your mouth shut, grinning like a maniac as he instructs you “Swallow,” The slide of his spit down your throat makes you moan, absolutely loving the filthiness of his actions, “Good girl.” He praises you for the first time, giving your jaw a light squeeze before releasing it.

The praise is gone as quickly as it came when Elijah spins you around, bending you over the counter. You gasp at the coldness against your sensitive nipples. He holds your hip with one hand, the other guiding his erect cock through your shiny folds. The pleasure of Elijah nudging your clit with every upstroke distracts you from the feeling on blood slowly drying on your skin.

Your mouth drops in surprise, screaming out as Elijah suddenly enters you in one bruising thrust and with no warning. The stretch is painful, but you’re wet enough that he slides in easily. Your hand shoots behind you on reflex, pushing hard against his torso. Elijah only chuckles at your pathetic attempt of pushing him away, grabbing your wrist and holding it behind your back.

“Too much Elijah, please just wait!” You plead when you feel him starting to move inside you, blood smearing the whit marble underneath you.

“Shh, take it.” Elijah shushes, not waiting for you to adjust before slamming into you again, his tip pressing against your cervix and causing you to sob out a moan. With every battering thrust of his hips, the loud clap of skin meeting skin fills the room.

It doesn’t take more than a minute before the pain dulls into a numbing ache and the pleasure overwhelms you. You’re moaning like a whore, taking every inch of his thick cock inside you, your walls fluttering around him. The way his shaft glides across your g spot makes you jerk with pleasure.

“That’s it, such a sweet little slut falling apart on my cock.” He coos, releasing your hand and pulling you up till your back meets his chest. He wraps his arm around your neck so your chin rests on his bicep and keeps working his hips back and forth, fucking into you in long, brutal strokes. The base of his cock throbs every time he bottoms out, and his balls slap against your slit with wet, filthy noises. His animalistic grunts mix with your cries of pleasure.

“Still too much for you?” He teases, laughing when his only response is a gurgle of incoherent words that you didn’t even notice came from your mouth. “Yeah?” He murmurs, pounding into you at an inhuman speed.

Elijah rests his other hand on your blood stained lower stomach, sending a jolt of warmth through you.

“Who do you belong to?” Elijah whispers, his breath tickling your ear. “Who owns this cunt, y/n?” He runs the tips of his fingers over your clit.

“Y-you Elijah!” You sob, tears forming in your eyes from the intense pleasure this man is giving you.

“That’s my girl.” Elijah praises before bringing his hand down hard on your clit. Surprisingly it wasn’t painful at all. You heard the smack before you felt it and suddenly you were gushing around his cock, the mix of his cock rubbing at your walls and the sharp pleasure to your clit plummeting you into an unexpected orgasm. Your eyes go blurry from tears as you squirt all over the counter and floor. Euphoria runs through you in a single wave as your walls uncontrollably pulsate around Elijah.

“Look at you, cumming on my cock like a good little girl. Making such a mess.” Elijah’s groans, pulling out of you suddenly. You whine at the loss, feeling your slick cunt clench at the air. Elijah turns you to face him before bending down and hooking his arms under your legs. You squeal as he lifts you up, essentially folding you in half as your knees touch your shoulders. Elijah’s hands cup your arse, and you wrap your own around his neck. He shows no strain as he holds you in mid air, turning you both so he can lean slightly against the counter.

You throw your head back and clench your eyes shut as Elijah pushes inside you again, the sensitivity of having just cum causing you to claw harshly at his back.

“Elijah, stop!” You call out, the overstimulation feeling like too much. He doesn’t listen, not that you were expecting him too.

You’re absolutely helpless as he starts moving you up and down his length, using you like some type of fuck doll. You fidget and squirm relentlessly in an attempt to make him stop.

“Look at me!” Elijah barks. You use the little strength you have to lift your head, meeting his intense and feral gaze. “You are going to shut up, take my cock and you’re going to fucking enjoy it. Do you understand?” He sneers, slowing down so you can catch your breath and come up with a coherent sentence. You’ve never heard Elijah speak so vulgar before and it strangely turns you on.

You know that if you put up enough of a fight, your Elijah would come back and stop immediately. He’d probably beat himself up with guilt while he holds you and apologises way too many times. But you don’t want Elijah to feel bad, you asked him to do this in the first place.

“I understand, wanna take it.” You rush out before crashing your lips onto his, you can feel his grin as you try to shove your tongue into his mouth. He parts his lips for you and you whimper when he sucks heavily on your tongue.

Elijah thrusts his hips up erratically, his thrusts reaching vampire speed as his climax steadily approaches. You break the kiss to bury your face in his neck when you feel your own rising in your gut.

Elijah lifts one hand to grip your hair and pull your head back to present your neck. Searing pain rushes through you as his fangs pierce your skin, mixing with the pleasure of his thrusts. Your vision goes black as your third orgasm of the night crushes you. The feeling of Elijah’s cum filling your tight cunt only prolongs your pleasure. You feel Elijah retreat from your neck as his moans fill the air, mixing with what you realise is your own screams.

Elijah slips out of you when his cock stops spurting, feeling the aggressive, lust filled haze of red door Elijah dissolving with every passing moment. He sits you on the counter momentarily to unhook his arms from underneath your legs. Then he lifts your trembling form back into his embrace, one hand holding your bum for support and the other cradling your head into his neck. Your grip around him loosens as you continue riding the waves of pleasure, shaking like a leaf in his hold.

Elijah chuckles endearingly as you moan into his neck. “Still coming baby?” He grins, kissing the top of your head. You manage a small whimper of agreement as you feel him start to walk somewhere.

Thank god for vampire speed, because Elijah has you in a warm shower within the minute. You rest against him, half asleep, as he washes the dried blood off your skin. After you are both clean and dry, you settle under the covers of your bed, cuddled up to the love of your life.

“Please tell me you don’t regret it.” Elijah mumbles into your hair. You release a tired laugh, your face pressed against his chest.

“No my love, I don’t regret it at all. Did it help?” You yawn, cuddling further into his comforting embrace.

“Definitely.” Elijah sighed, his mind feeling a lot calmer and his body tired. You tilt your head up, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss.

“Love you lijah.” You smile into the kiss as you speak. Elijah copies your grin as he responds, “Love you so much baby.”. He gives you one last peck before leaning back into the pillow and closing his eyes, waiting till he hears your cute snores before drifting into a dreamless sleep.

The couple are passed out cold by morning, still recovering from their late night. Klaus however, is very much awake as he stumbles into the living room, where Freya and Kol are engaged in an intense game of chess.

“Do not go into the kitchen!” Klaus gags, collapsing onto the couch in a dramatic heap. “And remind me to kill both Elijah and Y/N.”.

T A G L I S T (msg or comment to be on it)

@b1tchy

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gothcsz · 4 days ago

Text

part eight of the neighbors series. soooo my angsty little brain just couldn’t leave these two alone 😫 i think we all want to see javier navigate through the consequences of his actions, and thus this was created. this takes place after part six since i’m finally starting to curate a timeline for this. enjoy the angst muñekitas (gn) 🖤

javier peña x f!reader. ~2.2k word count. nothing to tag except the angst that comes with this pairing 😭 oh and some allusions to like porn but even then it’s not a lot.

Now it’s Javier’s turn to feel the absence.

It’s a slow, creeping ache that nestles into his chest every time he notices your purposeful distance.

Since that night when he stumbled to your door, drunk on bourbon and drowning in guilt over disappointing two women in different, disastrous ways, it’s like you’ve vanished, retreating behind walls he helped you build with his own selfish hands.

The way you breeze past him at work, your gaze fixed on anything but him, your expression carefully neutral, like he’s just another face in the crowd.

He lets his eyes linger on you when you’re not looking, tracing the set of your shoulders, the curve of your lips as you smile at someone else. He tells himself it’s just a habit, but the truth is uglier: it’s longing.

He misses you, and it’s eating him alive.

He doesn’t push it, doesn’t call your name or try to stop you. What would he even say?

This is why he thinks, maybe, it’s best to let you go. To step back and leave you to a life that doesn’t revolve around his mess of baggage and excuses. You deserve that—someone consistent.

But Javier is nothing if not selfish.

You make him feel good about himself, make him believe, even for a fleeting moment, that maybe he isn’t as broken as he thinks.

He knows it’s fucked up to want that back, to keep you in his orbit when all he’s done is take and take and take.

He tells himself he’ll change, that he’ll be better for you, but the lie tastes bitter in his mouth. He’s said it too many times before.

He’s never changed. He doesn’t know if he ever will.

Even your apartment feels like it’s given up on him.

The sounds of your life—the muffled hum of your TV, the groan of the pipes when you shower—have vanished. There’s no scent of your cooking wafting into the hallway, no warm glow of your living room lamp spilling onto the street at night.

The first time he knocks on your door and you don’t answer, it’s to apologize. For everything. For being him. He knows you’re tired of his apologies, but he doesn’t know how else to fix things.

The second time, he’s worked himself into a dumb excuse just to see you. Borrowing sugar? Too cliché. Asking you to water his plants? A lie—his plants are fake, courtesy of the furnished apartment.

He settles on a half-baked story about needing your phone because his isn’t working. But you’re not home, or at least you don’t answer.

The third time, he’s drunk again, and missing you has become unbearable. Work is getting worse, and the pressure is pushing him toward old, ugly habits. Temptation whispers in his ear to drive across the city to the familiar brothel.

He’s fighting it—fighting himself—but losing. He mutters nonsense against your door, forehead pressed to the wood, cursing himself for every way he’s managed to screw this up.

By now, he feels pathetic, like a ghost haunting your door with no purpose.

Has he been so self-absorbed that he missed the signs of you moving out? No, he’d have noticed that. He’s sure.

Are you pretending not to be home, just to avoid him? No, you’re not the type. Even thinking it makes him feel more desperate.

He’s grasping at straws, trying to make sense of your absence, but the truth gnaws at him: this is what he deserves.

Javier’s knee bounces impatiently as he watches the clock in the office. The minute hand finally ticks past twelve, and he’s up, snatching his jacket off the back of his chair. His movements are quick, borderline desperate.

Steve doesn’t even look up from the report in his hand, but his coffee mug tilts lazily in Javier’s direction. “Where are you goin’?”

“Out,” Javier snaps, already tugging on his jacket.

Steve smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Gettin’ your dick wet in the middle of the day is impressive, Peña.”

Javier doesn’t dignify the sarcastic comment with a response, brushing past him and into the hallway.

The elevator takes its sweet time, and he jabs the button repeatedly, as if that’ll make it arrive faster.

He doesn’t have much of a plan. Just the hope of catching you on your lunch break, cornering you long enough to get a word in.

He doesn’t care if you tell him to fuck off—it’s very warranted. He just needs to see you, hear your voice, anything to bridge the unbearable silence that’s imposed between you.

When the elevator doors open, he’s out like a shot, weaving through the hallway until he makes it to the courtyard.

He picks a bench partially hidden by shrubs, knowing full well that if you spot him beforehand, you’d turn on your heel and walk the other way.

On cue, you appear. Lunchbox in hand, you push open the glass door and step into the sunlit courtyard.

The way you breathe in the fresh air, as if it’s the first real breath you’ve taken all day, does something to him—something he can’t explain and it warms him up inside.

You settle at a table, pulling out your lunch with that same careful precision he’s always found maddeningly endearing.

He calls your name softly, stepping out from his hiding spot.

You’ve been proud of yourself lately, weaning yourself off of him little by little. It’s been painful, sure, but necessary.

Spending more time at Mateo’s penthouse has helped. What started as a few overnights has quietly turned into something more—a drawer in his dresser, a spot on his bathroom counter, a spare key on your keychain.

You’ve unofficially moved in, and with it has come a tentative sense of peace.

The man dotes on you, showers you with affection and thoughtful gifts, and you’re starting to let yourself feel something for him. How could you not? He treats you well, and after everything with Javier, that feels like a revelation.

So you’ve given Javier the cold shoulder. It wasn’t easy at first—cutting him off, ignoring the drunken mess who showed up at your door that night, all guilt and bourbon fumes.

But you’ve stayed firm. You let him crash on your couch, sure, but only because you didn’t have the heart to turn him away entirely.

After that, you swore you wouldn’t let him back in—not until he showed up with a real apology instead of the hollow ones he always throws your way.

Javier doesn’t understand apologies. Not really. His are more about smoothing things over, dodging guilt, than actually taking responsibility for how he’s hurt you.

You’re tired of being the balm for his bad choices.

“Javier,” you exhale sharply, a hand flying to your chest as your heart races from the scare he’s given you. He always had a knack for sneaking up on you, but now, it’s more irritating than endearing. “You scared me.”

His expression twists in discomfort, a cringe already tugging at his face. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, the words reflexive.

Your brows pinch together at the sound of them, suspicion creeping into your tone. “Can I help you with something? I’d rather take my lunch alone today.”

There it is—the cool detachment, the way your voice wraps around the words like barbed wire, leaving him no easy way in. He hates it. But he knows he’s earned it.

“I just…” He hesitates, shifting his weight like the words are hard to carry. “How are you?”

Your eyes narrow, scanning him like you’re trying to find the angle, the ulterior motive buried beneath the surface. “Fine,” you say crisply. “What do you want, Javier?”

He takes a step closer, his voice low and almost pleading. “I haven’t seen you around. Things have been tense between us, and I—”

“I wonder why,” you cut him off.

He grits his teeth, the frustration crackling in his chest like static. “Can you just talk to me? Please?”

You straighten in your seat, meeting his gaze head-on. There’s no softness there, only a resolute weariness. “Why?” you demand. “Because you’re upset? Because you’re sad? Why is it always on me to be there for you, but you can just disappear when the roles are reversed?”

The soft gurgle of the courtyard fountain fills the silence that follows, a gentle backdrop to the storm brewing between you.

“I never…” He rubs the back of his neck, searching for the right words and finding none that feel adequate. “I never intended for it to come off that way.”

Your laugh is bitter, devoid of humor. “Intention or not, you’ve been a terrible friend. And honestly? I’m done putting energy into something that only drains me.” You lean back, crossing your arms with finality. “So please, just leave me alone.”

He stares at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of softness, any opening he can slip through. But all he finds is resolve, the hurt buried behind it making the air between you feel suffocating.

Finally, he nods, the movement stiff and reluctant. “Okay… okay.” His voice is quiet, resigned, the words a pale shadow of what he wants to say.

There’s a thousand arguments, apologies, and pleas clawing at the back of his throat, but none of them escape.

All he can do now is give you what you’re asking for—the space he let get too vast.

He lingers for a second longer, like he’s memorizing the sight of you, before turning and walking away.

You keep your eyes trained on your lunch, refusing to watch him leave. It’s only when his footsteps fade into the background that you let out a shaky breath, your head falling into your hands.

He’s so damn frustrating.

The days pass in a haze, Javier’s life tumbling forward at its usual relentless pace.

He doesn’t mope by your door anymore, no longer knocking with some feeble excuse or lingering in hopes you’ll let him in.

At work, he doesn’t glance your way when you pass. Doesn’t try to engage.

Conveniently, the streets are rife with bullshit, and his job gives him more than enough to drown in.

Between navigating corrupt bureaucrats, dodging the cartel’s web of influence, and wrangling informants who can’t keep their stories straight, there’s no time to brood.

Or so he convinces himself.

Instead of facing the weight of his loneliness head-on, he starts seeing Vanessa more often. She’s sharp, witty, and knows how to keep secrets—a working girl turned informant turned... something else.

Lover feels too strong, too sincere. What he has with Vanessa isn’t love. It’s relief. A salve for the parts of him he doesn’t know how to fix.

He doesn’t feel the same about her as he does for you—or as he did for Helena. But that doesn’t stop him.

She doesn’t ask questions she knows he won’t answer. When he talks, she listens, offering the occasional hum or sly smile as he dumps his thoughts on her like she’s a therapist.

Vanessa plays the part well, whether it’s for his money or because she genuinely gives a damn, he’s not sure. The nights spent with her—whether tangled in sheets or sharing cheap whiskey and broken conversations—leave him feeling lighter.

Until he’s alone and the crushing intensity of his life presses down again. It amplifies the parts he tries to ignore: the failures, the detachment, the void left behind.

He’s currently standing in the VHS section of a raunchy sex shop, the bright pink neon lighting casting a faint glow on his face.

His hip juts out as he stands in front of the display, one hand braced there while the other dangles loosely at his side, his fingers twitching absently.

The provocative covers blur together in his mind: exaggerated poses, bold fonts, and overly made-up faces.

His gaze roves over them, a bored sort of interest in his search for something to take home. Something to tide him over on the nights he can’t visit Vanessa or doesn’t feel like picking someone up.

Then he sees it.

At first, he thinks it’s your face staring back at him from the glossy cover. His breath catches, his heart stopping like he’s been sucker-punched. He leans in, blinking hard to clear his head.

The resemblance is uncanny, but not exact. The eyes aren’t quite the same, and the curve of the smile is just a little off

It’s enough to shake him. Enough to make his stomach twist in knots, caught somewhere between relief and disappointment.

For a moment, he hesitates, stroking his mustache as his mind races.

The rational part of him knows better. But the other part—the desperate, reckless part that hasn’t quite let you go—pushes him forward.

His gaze flicks around the shop, paranoia creeping in like he’s a teenager sneaking a dirty magazine under his bed, and finally, he gives in.

He grabs the tape quickly, his gaze darting to the image on the back—a sultry, obscene shot of the actress who looks so much like you. That seals it.

Before he can second-guess himself, he’s heading to the register, slapping a few bills on the counter and ignoring the clerk’s bored, knowing look.

He rushes through his apartment door, not even bothering to kick off his boots before fumbling to pop the tape into his player.

His knees spread wide as he leans forward, elbows on his thighs, remote in hand.

The screen flickers to life, static giving way to the image of this woman who isn’t you but is just close enough to hurt.

His heart pounds as the film begins, anticipation mixing with shame.

He tells himself it’s nothing—it’s just a distraction, just something to pass the time.

But as he watches the you-lookalike pleasure herself, he realizes it’s not just about getting off. It’s about pretending, for one fleeting moment, that he still has a piece of you.

Even if it’s a lie.

“¿Estás segura que necesitas ese collar, lindura?” (Are you sure you need that necklace, darling?) Mateo’s voice drips with indulgence as he parks outside your apartment building, glancing at you with an amused smile.

“Sí,” you reply, already unbuckling your seatbelt. “It goes perfectly with this dress. I’ll just be a second, and then we can go.”

He sighs lightly but doesn’t argue, his smile widening when you lean over to kiss his cheek.

Swiping your keys from the console, you push the door open, your heels clicking onto the pavement as you hop out.

The night air is cool, and you feel radiant in your cocktail dress. It clings to your curves just right, the rich hue of the fabric practically glowing against your skin.

You’re on your way to dinner with Mateo’s boss and his wife. Somewhere too expensive, probably, given how you’re dressed.

You stride into the building, the sound of your heels echoing in the quiet corridor. But as you approach your door, your steps falter.

There, slumped against your apartment door, is a figure you’d recognize anywhere. His head is tilted awkwardly to the side, soft snores rumbling from his chest. Javier.

For a moment, you just stand there, stunned. You weren’t expecting this—not the sight of him disheveled and vulnerable, slouched like he’s been there for hours.

He’s a piece of work, truly. It’s almost laughable how he can show up uninvited and still manage to pull at your heartstrings.

This is the first time you’ve seen his face so… relaxed. Without that signature scowl or smug grin. He looks so at peace, your heart begins to flip in your chest.

“Javier,” you say sharply, crossing your arms. He doesn’t stir, his head lolling slightly.

You glance over your shoulder, catching the headlights of Mateo’s car spilling into the hallway through the windows.

“Javi,” you try again, stepping closer and nudging his foot with the toe of your shoe.

That finally does it. He stirs, blinking groggily, then rubbing his face with one hand as if trying to erase the remnants of sleep.

“Mierda,” he mutters, his voice a low, husky rumble.

“What are you doing asleep at my door?” you demand, trying to keep your tone firm.

He squints up at you, his eyes widening as they adjust to the sight of you.

For a beat, he just stares, taking in the sweep of your makeup, the soft shimmer of your perfume, and the way that dress clings to you like it was made for your body.

You see his throat work as he swallows, his brain clearly short-circuiting. “I—um…” he starts, fumbling for words as he plants a hand on the floor to hoist himself up.

He winces, groaning as he stretches out his back, his body protesting after the long fucking day he’s had.

Perhaps he should lay off the cigarettes, his lungs still aching from the intense foot chase he had engaged in earlier in the day.

It had been one of those situations that really resonated with him, and his cruel mind had shoved a memory of you two to the forefront in an attempt to ease his anxiety.

It’s why he had sought refuge by sitting outside of your door, as absurd as it looks.

“What are the odds of both of us getting locked out?” you say, breaking the silence with a sigh as you lean your head back against the wall.

Javier lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief as he sinks down to sit across from you, his legs stretched out lazily. The flickering hallway light casts soft shadows on his face, and you try not to notice how effortlessly handsome he looks, even while stranded outside his apartment.

“Maybe this should incentivize us,” he says, gesturing vaguely toward the locked doors,“to finally get spare keys made.”

You slide the takeaway container across the carpet toward him with your foot, nodding for him to dig in.

“What are you feeding me, anyway?”

“Chicken stir fry. I was craving it all day so I stopped to get some after work and now here we are.” You say with a dramatic sigh. “Figured it’s only fair to share. For the sheer cosmic injustice of tonight.”

He smirks, spearing a forkful of food before taking a bite. “How thoughtful.”

The two of you have been sitting there for nearly twenty minutes already, waiting for the locksmith to arrive.

Takeout had been your plan for a quiet night in, but now it’s turned into an impromptu hallway picnic.

“You know,” you start, a teasing edge to your voice, “you could always use your agent strength to bust the door down.”

He pauses mid-chew, one eyebrow quirking up in amusement. “Agent strength?”

“Yeah.” You grin, uncapping your water bottle to take a sip. “Don’t you guys get superpowers at the academy? Like, enhanced strength? X-ray vision? Maybe even the ability to charm your way out of literally anything?”

His laugh rumbles low in his chest, and you can’t help but feel a pang of satisfaction at coaxing it out of him. “You’ve got a wild imagination, cariño.” He leans back, the fork still dangling from his fingers as his smirk deepens. “I hate to disappoint, but it’s not exactly the X-Men over there.”

“I don’t know, Javi,” you quip, pretending to inspect him. “You’ve got the smolder, the mysterious backstory, the leather jacket. Sounds pretty superhero-esque to me.”

He scoffs, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. “I think you’ve been watching too many movies. What I do is… significantly less glamorous.”

“Less glamorous, sure,” you counter, “but I bet it’s still got its moments. Like when you bust down a door or take down a cartel big shot. Or when you dramatically light a cigarette while walking away from an explosion.”

The laugh that escapes him this time is louder, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet hallway. He hands the container back to you, his eyes soft with mirth as he shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re avoiding the question,” you shoot back, grinning as you take a bite of your own. “Admit it, you’ve thought about the superhero thing before.”

He tilts his head, as if considering it for a moment, then leans forward slightly, his voice low and teasing. “Alright, maybe once or twice.”

“See?” You point at him triumphantly, though the warmth in his gaze as he watches you makes your breath hitch.

There’s a moment of quiet as the two of you sit there, and you suddenly wonder if you’re imagining how much smaller the hallway feels with him in it.

The banter continues as you kill time, the two of you sharing bites of dinner and passing the container back and forth.

But when the locksmith still hasn’t arrived, the night stretches on, and you find yourself shifting closer to him. Eventually, you slide down the wall until you’re sitting side by side, your head resting lightly on his shoulder.

Javier freezes at first, his breath catching as he glances down at you.

He notices the curve of your lashes, the way your lips part slightly as you drift off, and—god help him—the faint trace of sauce smudged at the corner of your mouth.

He swallows hard, his jaw working as he debates waking you, but the quiet weight of you against him is oddly comforting.

His fingers twitch, the urge to brush a strand of hair from your cheek almost too tempting. Instead, he exhales slowly, willing himself to stay still. He doesn’t need to touch you to feel the pull you have over him.

For now, just watching you sleep—so close, so serene—will have to be enough.

“Well?” You raise a brow, folding your arms tighter across your chest as you snap him out of his reverie.

He looks away briefly, dragging a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he says finally, his voice gruff. “Just… had one of those days. My place felt too damn quiet, and I couldn’t get out of my own head.”

Your brows furrow. You don’t want to care, but there’s something about the way he says it that gives you pause.

Behind you, Mateo’s headlights flash once, a silent reminder of the evening waiting for you.

Javier notices, his gaze flicking toward the light, and his expression shifts.

“You look nice,” he says, his voice softer now, almost reverent.

You grit your teeth, refusing to let the compliment sink in. “Javier, I don’t have time for this. I’m going to be late.”

“Right,” he murmurs, stepping back and rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to hold you up.” But the way his eyes linger on you for a second longer says otherwise.

You shake your head, brushing past him as you unlock your door. “You need to figure yourself out,” you say, not unkindly but firmly. “I told you to leave me alone. That includes sulking outside of my apartment.”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you disappear inside, his jaw tight and his hands stuffed into his pockets.

You’re gone for only a minute, returning with the necklace in hand, and his eyes meet yours as you lock the door behind you.

“Goodnight,” you say pointedly, brushing past him again as you head for the exit.

“Goodnight,” he mutters, barely audible, watching as you slip back into Mateo’s car, the door shutting behind you with a decisive click.

The car pulls away, leaving Javier standing there alone, the glow of the streetlights casting his shadow long and weary against the pavement.

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @persephone-girl . @magneticecstasy . @thundermartini . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @samanthajonees . @yellowbrickyeti . @bambisweethearts . @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack . @picketniffler . @itwasntimethatdidit40 . @94namkooksworld . @dontlookatme121 . @cherrysugarx . @half-moon16 . @dinanabuu . @sunshinefive . @angiewatson .

#javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x you #javier peña fic #javier pena fic #javier peña fanfic #javier pena fanfic #javier pena x you

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jonnywaistcoat · 1 year ago

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Idk if you've answered this question elsewhere, so feel free to ignore. But what is your favorite genre of music? Or specific artists?

I like all the genres: I like music for cowboys to cry to; I like music to watch cities collapse to; I like music to ride a haunted carousel to; I like music to drink cheap bourbon to; I like music to wander empty streets to; I like music to drop acid to; I like music to die in Vietnam to; I like music to stitch onto battle jackets; I like disco.

#i also like to be pretentious about genres #but hey #these are also legit descriptions of a lot of my favourite music

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rolankisser · 5 months ago

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Ache Within

hii everyone! this is my first boothill oneshot so enjoy. I never wrote him nor posted smut sooo….any feedback is blessed. This was a oneshot i made for a friend bc she’s a boothill lover LMAOO, hope you like him as much as her cause it’s gonna hurt!

Mature Content:

Boothill x F!Reader, shameless smut, little to no plot, unrequited feelings (not really), give this cowboy a hug please, metal cock, P in V Sex, Edging, no kissing, overstimulation.

You can also find it on my AO3!: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57066385?view_adult=true

“You and Boothill never had anything there. Perhaps passing glances and light touches, nothing more you can do when you are constantly on the run from the IPC. But sometimes when you can pay the fee for a room, you may find yourself underneath the man who has been invading everything--especially love.”

So a pretty gal like you is truly waitin' for me?"

That smoky voice you came to relish in at any chance swells your heart big, just hearing his voice with its casual, rough accent that wasn't common on Penacony or any planet you have run to. It may be why it always brought warmth between your thighs and lower belly. He was different. The creaking on the cheap wooden floor signals his movement toward you, a classic motel with the smell of bourbon and cigarette ash. You could have gotten something more excellent, maybe a lavish hotel room on the main street of the bustling planet, but that's never been the case for you two, and that can't be the case for you two. Something secluded and secret was the atmosphere you two ravished in the most. At least the bed you sit on is comfortable; you wear your undergarments, and a soft breeze emanating from the small balcony in the room causes goosebumps on your body.

You can help but let a grin fall over your face as you turn to face the man who has haunted you every corner you go, every alley, every time you go to sleep. Sleep has always been where you can find him, waiting for you.

"Surely I would not be waiting for anyone else; only you ever find me." You hum out cheekily, lifting your head to meet the figure that towered over you.

Your feet lightly touched the roughness of his boots as you sat at the edge of the bed. His arms caged your figure, each hand meeting the plush of your thighs; they immediately squeezed together from the light and cold touch of his metal palms. Your eyes met his, the onyx-colored shade staring directly into yours. Of course, he could only find you. Leaving a trail, he could only see why this little rendezvous had happened more to your liking, Boothill's toothy grin plastered on his pale skin. If you could, you would worship him; his facial structure could go on par with the gods that haunted this galaxy; it's why you find your hand cupping the side of his cheek, the only part of him that kept human warmth. Thumb gliding on his plush skin, and he leans towards your palm the slightest bit, a gesture that makes you swallow back.

"No wonder you wear just these. Surely you ain't want anyone just to see—" Boothill whispers as he leans towards your ear. Ever so gently, his rigged breath touches it. Gods, did it make you shiver and squirm, but his grip stands firm on your thighs. "only lil ole' me." He finishes as his hand slowly travels up your thigh, going under the thin fabric that lightly covers his destination. You sigh softly before taking your hand off his face, stealing that lovely cowboy hat he always wore and placing it next to you on the bed. "You're the only one who can get me like this- the only cowboy in all of Penacony." Airly, you spoke as you felt his sharp teeth nip at the corner of your ear as a reaction to your admission to him. Boothills hand immediately follows and pushes you back against the bed as he crawls almost entirely over you. He lifts his head back towards you, facing you directly; his eyes blow wide, filled with a hint of desire but seemingly Nothing more. He waits momentarily before you nod your head, a silent agreement you two are only aware of. Most of this arrangement did not use many words, the most being the snappy, quick back and forth, and dirty talk. That's what Boothill played the most in this game of lust and passion. His metal hands curled at the edges of the fabric before pulling down your panties, the partially soaked material thrown somewhere in the room. His hand finally palmed your desire; the cold yet smooth fingers were ready to enter. You whimper out in a plea; Boothill's smile played once more on his face before he leaned down and nipped at the skin above your breast; they perk up at the feeling of his teeth leaving a purple mark in his wake as he traveled up to your collarbone then neck where he stayed leaving more marks. Your hands immediately reached towards his leather belt, fiddling over the buckle before it fell abruptly along with his holster.

"Not yet, always so greedy." Boothill teased as his fingers slowly entered your slick slit, the sounds of your wetness taking up the room as you let out a pitched moan from the invasion of his fingers. The cold mixed with your warm walls was almost heavenly. His cyborg appearance made a difference compared to a human one; it was so different. So much pleasure for you, something new. The edge of his palm, finding your perky clit rubbed it roughly as he found a rhythm and trusted his two fingers. The dexterity of his hands is one you admire; no wonder he could handle a gun so well and invade the IPC for so long with a large bounty compared to your own. Your mind grew fuzzy as the pace of his fingers finally found the spot of all your pleasure; it was as if that area in your body was crafted just for his fingers. The sounds of your pants mixed with the gushing sounds of his hands continuously plunging and stretching you, his groans reaching your ears. Opening your tear-filled eyes, you saw his half-lidded ones and a look of determination to finish and please you. "Fuck- Boothill-" You moaned loudly as your back arched into his metal chest; the cold plates of his body touching your nipples brought new pleasure that shot to your apex. His fingers started going faster, almost knowingly. Your reaching your climax was halted quickly, and his hands retrieved promptly out of you, leaving a new empty sensation; a whine left you almost immediately.

"Perfect." He mumbled into your skin, leaving another nip into your bruised neck. He looks into your eyes before cupping your chin as you bite your bottom lip. A sharp breath left your nose as your legs quickly found a place around his hips. A harsh grunt and laugh left him, "I swear to god- don't tease me." You cried out, your hands moving from gripping the sheets under you and finding his hair that lay messily over his shoulders. "What? I can't leave a girl waiting, and I wanna give her something more." Boothill replied with pride as he moved his hands covered in your slick; he licked it clean in slow agony. You couldn't help but push yourself towards his hips; you felt the hard metal touch your warm core. Soon, his hands found the inside of your thighs, pushing them achingly apart as he watched your minor reactions. The way your body reacted just for him. It left him always a little surprised yet cocky.

One thing was this never went further than just your pleasure; he made sure you got the attention you wanted. It never went further than him splitting your and milking you for hours as you wanted with just his hands and mouth. But tonight, he wanted to try something new, one that he wanted to see how you reacted. Mostly, he never felt anything when you two finally touched the lines of lust that spurred out of you, but only light lingered from him. Maybe the cheeky and cocky attitude he held is what you liked. Boothill enjoyed the gaze you gave him and how you challenged him, but he couldn't desire more; of course, he wanted to relieve himself like he did to you. But what would it do for him? He pulled his pants down slightly, enough so that his noticeably missing bulge was meant to leave your eyes staring in one of confusion. Until, with a push of his hand on it, it grew into a metal cock almost instantly; his cyborg body didn't allow him to feel what he wanted to, not ever since he came to be this. But he never used this mechanic it came with; it almost pulsated like a Well-flesh one. It caused him to shudder even within the metal. His eyes met yours as he saw how blown wide they were with lust. He hadn't noticed one of your hands leave his hair and return to your face as you bit the tip of your thumb, getting an itch of arousal out of him. How your skin lightly glowed from the sweat of getting to the most of your pleasure only to be edged wanting even more.

"Hells, it's as if you want me to fill you.." Boothill mumbled as he glided a finger from your slit to your clit, making you moan loudly. Your free hand slid from this silky hair down his smooth chest to his newly freed cock. He groaned almost instantly, causing the grip of his hand on your inner thigh to get tighter. "If you want your reward, I wanna hear it." You felt your throat go dry as your watched his hand leave your needy hole and move to grip is metal cock, slowly moving so the tip sat nicely between the two slits, not going fully in. It's just a light tease to leave you wanting it. You almost need it. No, you wanted it. But god, he had that classic cocky grin on his face.

"If you don't, just, Boothill, please.." You whined a bit, the pressure of his cock readily waiting to split you open. It was just babble talk. Boothill grinded his hips a bit, giving a slight dip into you and sending an almost vibration. Vibration? Boothill's eyes widened before Boothill instantly started laughing, gods his cock was vibrating when he moved his hips. "Hells, please just fuck me." You begged, and he hummed in reply. Slowly sinking himself into you, and your legs instinctively shudder and try to clamp him in. Instead, Boothill takes one of his hands and lifts your leg more, hooking it to his shoulder, allowing him to reach a new angle that leaves you like putty in his arms. The dirty yet beautiful sounds you sang made him push even harder until he was hip to hip and deep in you. You felt him stretch you; it left a slight, sharp feeling that had you taking a deep breath as he sunk. Yet just him sinking into you had you seeing stars, and the new angle has you praising the gods above. You feel his hand push lightly on your lower belly, causing you to let out the breath you were holding in; you whimper from the pleasure. His cock fits so well that it vibrates lightly, making you constantly squirm, feeling almost overstimulated from the feeling of it at that specific spot inside of you.

"You ready to ride a cowboy, sweetheart?"

Boothill announces as he removes his jacket, just keeping his pants on that leaves his cock out. As soon as his jacket landed on the wooden floor, one hand went back to the thigh of the leg on his shoulder and the other on the hill over your breast, painfully slow his fingers landed on your nipples as he rubbed the nub in a circling as he finally thrusts in you. It's almost as frantic and hard as he does as if he is chasing a high. But it was hitting your high. Boothill watches his eyes constantly watch how your ass hits his hips with each thrust into your warm and gushy cunt. He feels every single hit of your spot as if your pleasure is echoing back to him, causing him to let out a string of groans. His hand that was playing with your previously neglected breasts landed on the side of your head; he leaned more over you. Almost the position you were both in was similar to a mating press, sending immense pleasure into you. You moaned, whined, cried. Pretty tears wet your lashes as you glanced at him.

His pretty face was covered his sweat, and the birthmark under his eye highlighted the intense focus he had to make sure of fucking you so nicely. Something new, something that almost awakened you to something. Something like love, fuck, you loved this man. All those sly glances, the small touches as you two flew by each other when attacking the common enemy you shared and wanted justice for the wrongs they had done to you, even if this- whatever you can call these gatherings for you two. You desired for this man, Boothill was ultimately another thing you were fighting for every day other than for your wishes. His white hair intertwined with black strands now sticking to his face and the rest behind him and moving with him as he thrusts his hips in the same rapid rhythm in you. The way his hand continued to grip your thigh once he let go, you see the imprint of his metal hand on your plush skin; soon, it found its way back to your lower tummy. Boothill pressed pressure once more. Every time his tip hit your cervix, he made sure to press down, giving sparks of pleasure.

More, more, and more until you spilled. You finally feel your climax hit you with a storm, one leg that is hugged into his waist tightened on him. The other was shaking on his shoulder when he noticed the sudden spark. "Boothill!" You exclaimed as your spilled out cum on his metal vibrating cock. But he only hushed you as he continued going; one thing was obvious he couldn't spill into you; he couldn't cum. He could just keep going for as long as he wanted to, and for you, it made you crazy. Boothill watched as your milky substances covered his metal cock, pulling out almost all the way to get a look at the sight. He couldn't help but look into your fucked out eyes and the way your hair stuck to your body, and the bit of salvia on your chin.

Boothill knew what he felt deep down; he felt a feeling of appreciation and some romantic desire for you. But he wouldn't act on that, yet Boothill was fucking you through your orgasm; now moving the position in ease as he moved your leg from his shoulder back to his him and turning to his back, you now onto of him. Warming his cock that's stuffed in you as he holds you by your hips directly.

Now, you were really riding the cowboy.

Yet that's all you will do, as the round went again. With Boothill helping you bounce on his cock, his groans and dirty sounds mixed with the sounds of yours, the new sounds you never heard from him. He Vibrated almost even faster than before. Boothill would want more, but why form these attachments? Honestly, it was the fear of losing and loving someone. His thoughts clouded him as he seemingly thrust as you bounced. He was a cowboy as free as the wind. They used to say back on his planet. No one could ever catch him. Love couldn't catch him no matter how much he wanted it to; he had a mission, and you knew that. Yet he knew you felt something more. Boothill can see it even now, the way your fucked out eyes still held a flame of yearning and love for him, and it made his heartache as he fucked you. The way your hands caressed his metal chest so lovingly, the small touches he can only feel so lightly compared to the pleasure he feels on his cock from you. Soon, his hands moved from your hips to your lower tummy. He pressed down once more, and you took him so well. The way you squirmed even more as you bounced on him.

"You take me so well, dont'cha?" He groaned out with his husky laugh. And all you could do was nod lightly as your eyes rolled back, and you panted and moaned so sweetly for him. You were seeing stars, even brighter than the ones out in the sky. The night went by as the sound of skin and metal slapping against each other. The sounds of love making echoing the room the air was thick and hot of ecstasy, you don't know how long its been, but you had orgasmed more then twice already. Your ass was sore from the constant hit of metal from riding the man in front of you, now thighs caging Boothills as he nipped and left love marks between the valley of your breasts. Your throat was dried, and your thighs were sticky from your own slick and cum. And as you hit your peak once more, you buried your head into his metal shoulder. You felt the wave of your orgasm came to the end you panted, Boothills hands came to caress your back before he stopped and only rested it on your hips. He blew away some of your hair from you. "Too good, I think I'm out.." You whimpered, and Boothill could only laugh.

"Alright, sweetheart, up you go." He said sweetly in your ear as he helped you off of him with shaky thighs. Once you lay next to him, you both looked up at the wooden ceiling decorated with tiny fairy lights that highlighted the sweat covering you and him. You were trying to catch your breath as you felt soft fabric brush against your thighs; Boothill turned to your gaze and smirked. "Ain't no way I'm leaving a girl in her mess." it was a tease, yet it squeezed your heart. Once he finished cleaning you up, he sat back up, his metal back turning against you. You felt a tugging feeling. You wanted to touch him, yet not something sexual. A touch that was filled with its softness and care. You heard the sound of gears and the buckle of his pants. You watched once more as he leaned down and reached for something. Laying back down and staring up, your brows furrowed as you sighed, hands covering your face. Boothills steps, though, made you jump up. You didn't want him to go so quickly as he usually did. Instead, you catch him leaning over the balcony in the room corner.

He held a cigarette against his lips and lit a match and put it towards it, lighting it up before putting out the match's flame. He breathed in before letting out a circular puff of smoke. The moonlight shined off him as if the gods were crying the moonlight out. He was the only thing that shined on you in the moment. He looked so beautiful. You thought he looked like those tales of beings made by god, like he was almost hand-crafted to be this breathtaking.

"Boothill.." You called out, reaching a hand out partially.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

He turned his head over his shoulder before taking another puff of his cigarette. 'sweetheart,' you knew there wasn't anything inquiring about romantic interest. You bit your tongue.

"You are beautiful." You replied softly before putting your hand down and looking towards him in his eyes. Yet he turned away, and you heard the tiniest sigh.

He didn't reply. Something worse than him leaving as soon as he came. Boothill wanted to meet your gaze, brush his hands on your pretty lips, and give you the kiss he knew you desired- the genuine care you wanted. Yet he couldn't. He couldn't attach, he did love you yet. As the wind called him out in the moonlight, he stood under this night. The warm smoke entered his mechanical lungs and came once he blew out. He pressed his hand on his head.

"Fuck." He cursed lightly, praying you didn't hear him.

He was a cowboy, after all, free as the wind. Nothing could get him, Nothing could have him.

#boothill #honkai star rail #x reader #boothill x reader #give him a break #robot body #oneshot #smut #we love cowboys #yeehaw

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callsignmarz · 10 months ago

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MDNI | Ghost x Reader

“He’s Still Grieving.”

Life could be so unexpected. So empty. So cruel.

Full of all the ‘what if’s.’

Delicate rainfall descends from the heavens above, muting the outside world. Ghost overlooks the streets of London from inside of his flat with exhaustive eyes, twirling a whirlpool in his glass of bourbon.

“Drinking again?” You berated with concern, watching as he drowns his sorrows in alcohol.

“I got a lot on my mind.” He mumbled.

His drinking became a nightly ritual, numbing the shame and guilt that loomed over like the grey clouds in the night sky. Letting out a defeated sigh, Ghost shuts his eyes, listening to how your soft voice blends almost perfectly with the rain.

“You know, I hate when you go on a binge like this.”

Sensing his distress, you step closer, reaching out to embrace Ghost from behind. Yet, his body only tenses more underneath your touch.

“Talk to me, my love. Is it work?”

Your innocent question curls a faint smile on Ghost’s lips.

After a passing beat, he lets out a quiet laugh.

“You were always a thorn in my ass.”

“Just a thorn? I aim to be an entire cactus.” You remarked with a chuckle, taking the glass from his hands and gently setting it down on the nightstand beside the guest’s bed.

For a fleeting moment, everything felt normal. Then the sweet smile on your face fades as your brows furrow in deep thought.

“Are you ever going to move back into our bedroom?” You ask in a thin sounding tone.

Ghost’s frowns deeply, fighting to keep a handle on his composure. He wanted nothing more than to be back in the bedroom. Waking up next to you every morning, holding you close and kissing you whenever he pleases.

“No, not after what happened.” Ghost said firmly, ignoring the tightening in his throat.

Turning from the window, your head briefly sinks between your shoulders as he brushes past you, neither of you capable to meet each other’s gaze. Your heart squeezed painfully, knowing how much pain he was in, how much he lost then and now.

“I don’t blame you, Simon.” You say just before he leaves the room.

Ghost frozen in his tracks. Hearing his name leave your mouth with such ease broke the last shred of self-control. Spinning around, your heart races when Ghost charges at you in two large strides with self-loathing tears streaming down his face as he finally releases all his pent up emotions.

“You don’t get to say that, you’re not even real, Y/N! You’re fucking dead and it’s all my fault. I could’ve saved you, just like everyone fucking else in my life. But, no! I let my entire family down, I let Johnny down…now, I let you down.”

Choking back a sob, Ghost collapses on the edge of the bed, his face buried in his hands with the memories of the day he lost you flood back in.

The pitch from the sirens embedded within the walls of your home along with the sight of EMT’s worked vigorously to resuscitate you.

Every second matters.

Was the last thing the doctor said to Ghost before rushing you off for emergency surgery. 30 minutes later, you passed away from the brain aneurysm.

Since then, the man you loved so dearly deteriorated into nothing but a hallow shell with the only way of coping is searching for solace at the bottom of a bottle.

Little by little, the grief ate away at what was left of his sanity and the apparition of you began haunting him.

“I just miss you, Y/N…I miss you so much.” Ghost’s voice broke, dropping his hands from his face.

When Ghost looked at you, his brows scrunched as he saw the look of your face. In your eyes, Ghost saw the final farewell. The realization hit painfully as he jumped to his feet with woeful expression.

“No, please I’m not ready to let you go.” He pleaded as you held a bittersweet smile on your face, your own tears running along your flushed cheeks.

“I know and I’m sorry, my love. But, this is for the best. I need you to get better and stay strong for us. Okay?”

“Us?”

“Yeah, L.T. All of us.”

Ghost whips around with bulging eyes when he hears a familiar voice come from behind him.

On the other side of the room stood, Tommy with an arm around Beth, his mother, who was holding Joseph and Soap.

All of them looked as happy and healthy as Ghost last remembered.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, LT.” Johnny and Tommy chuckle at the bewildered look plastered on Ghost’s face.

“No matter what happens, we’re always going to be here for you, Sweetheart. And we’re so proud of the man you’ve become.” His eyes pull towards his mother’s soothing voice, then circles back towards you.

“It’ll be okay, Simon. Think of this as a ‘See you next time’ rather than a ‘Goodbye.’” You reassured Ghost as your hand swiftly cups his stubbled cheek.

Leaning into your touch one last time, Ghost silently accepted that it was time to let go. With a heavy heart, he whispers out his promise.

“I’ll do better, okay. Just…please don’t be a stranger.”

You give him a simple nod, then cradled him into your arms as he clung onto you for the last time. Ghost nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, smothering back the occasional sniffles.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Pulling away from each other, Soap’s hand slams down on the back of Ghost’s neck, joshing him around a bit.

“It’ll be okay, L.T. No need for the water works. I thought you told me you had a cold heart.” He teases, livening up the air, evoking a light chuckle from everyone. Soap leans closer, keeping his tone low and assuring, his baby blue eyes full of understanding. “Don’t worry, Sir. I’ll take care of them all.”

Ghost nods thankfully as he pulled away from you completely, wiping away the tears to take in everyone’s smiling faces before finally fading away, leaving Ghost alone once more.

This time the room felt emptier.

However, Ghost had to do one last thing before he could finally move on.

His legs carried himself out the guest room, in the living room, there was a shelf where your urn occupied and right next to it was a sliver key. As he took ahold of the key, Ghost hand caresses you urn with a sentimental smile. He then strolled over, unlocking and entering the master bedroom.

“Hey there, beautiful…”

#call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty fanfic #mw2 imagine #spotify #angst #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghostsoap

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mysafehaneul · 1 year ago

Text

VI. AQUAMARINE

CHAPTER 6: MIDNIGHT RAIN

JEON WONWOO X READER

WORDS: 5k+

GENRE: ARRANGE CONTRACT MARRIAGE AU! ENEMIES TO LOVERS!

Angst, Fluff, Smut

(Wonwoo listening his cousin bullshit his way through with his adopted son)

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Humans are often regarded as one of God's most remarkable creations. Their gift lies in their capacity to feel and, perhaps most importantly, their ability to choose. This choice extends to the depth at which they allow emotions to permeate their existence and whether they will permit these emotions to wield control. Among the plethora of emotions humans grapple with, two stand out as the most transformative: Love and Fear.

Fear can, at times, feel like the venomous bite of a serpent. Its poison infiltrates the body slowly, much like a creeping shadow merging with the blood coursing through the veins. Gradually, your body turns an eerie shade of blue, the coldness seeping into your very core, and then comes the numbing sensation. At this point, it seems as though your soul has departed, leaving behind nothing but an empty vessel.

Jeon Wonwoo, a man of logic and strategy, had experienced this paralyzing fear on just four distinct occasions throughout his life. In his family of Jeon cousins, he had always been seen as the rational and reliable one. Born to Jeon Wooshik and Sunmi, he was their cherished child and the apple of his grandmother's eye. When he was seven years old, his parents had contemplated expanding their business to Japan. However, his grandparents opposed the idea, so he continued his education in his homeland until middle school. At the age of 16, he relocated to London. This was where he first encountered Eleanor, his initial love.

Wonwoo had led a simple, disciplined life. He had a profound understanding of who he was and the influence he held. Yet, he was also acutely aware of the fragility of the intricate game known as life. He understood that the moment one took something for granted, life was apt to roll the dice and reveal its unpredictable hand. Thus, one must continually prove their worthiness. It was his grandfather who had once imparted the wisdom that good things come to those who work diligently for them.

The first of those four chilling episodes transpired when he was 16 years old. At that age, he was the epitome of youthful exuberance, with all the confidence and recklessness that adolescence often entails. He and his middle-school friend, Mingyu, both avid astronomy enthusiasts, set out for a night of stargazing. Mingyu, having recently acquired his driver's license, often drove to a place he discovered in one of his adventures. Mingyu had a dream to build an observatory near the pond in the newly developed section of the jungle, known as Bourbon Street. In one of their ambitious plans, Wonwoo intended to construct a home for himself and Eleanor on the same property. Yet the thing about plans is humor in itself for God.

They were behind the wheel, cruising along the rain-slicked roads. Boys at the age of 16, reckless and unbridled, invincible in their own minds. The night was tranquil, and the promise of adventure hung in the air. Suddenly, as they rounded a corner, a small raccoon darted across the road. Wonwoo's instincts took over; he slammed the brakes. However, the combination of the wet road and the vehicle's speed sent the car skidding out of control. It flipped, the world spinning in disarray.

The experience was an instant awakening. Fear gripped Wonwoo in its cold embrace as he struggled to make sense of the world turned upside down. When he gazed upon his friend, Mingyu, his eyes were lifeless, staring back at him. It was the first time in his young life that he felt the icy fingers of that overpowering fear.

In the days and weeks following the accident, Wonwoo wrestled with a profound sense of survivor's guilt. The memories of the ill-fated night haunted him relentlessly.

He couldn't shake the idea that he should have been the one to die that evening, not Mingyu. Why had the universe chosen to spare him? Why had he survived when his best friend had not? These thoughts tormented him, and he often found himself lost in a whirlpool of sorrow, asking questions that had no answers.

Attending Mingyu's funeral deepened his guilt. As he stood by the gravesite, holding a portion of Mingyu's ashes in his trembling hands, he made a silent promise to his departed friend: he would build that observatory and dedicate it to him, as a way of carrying a piece of Mingyu's dreams and ambitions into the future.

The accident not only left a deep emotional scar but also brought to Wonwoo's attention the stark realities of life. It dawned on him that wealth and privilege could serve as a protective shield against the harshness of the world. The news of the accident had been suppressed, and Wonwoo's influential family had made certain that Mingyu's family was well compensated. Their wealth ensured that they could keep the incident out of the public eye.

Wonwoo's mother, upon hearing the news that her son was safe, clung to him tightly, weeping with gratitude that her precious child had been spared. It was a poignant moment that emphasized how fortunes could dramatically shape the course of life. Wonwoo's grandmother, who had a strong hand in the family, took immediate action. She issued a stern decree that her grandson was not to drive anywhere without a driver, instilling in him a sense of dependency that he had never felt before.

As time passed, The pain soothed and people moved on. After the accident, the municipal held an auction for the land where the accident had happened, and the price had significantly dropped. Wonwoo', well aware of the land's importance, acted quickly to successfully bid for the plot in his name. But he was outbid by someone else named 28. When he turned to look, he saw a lady in uniform and noticed a young girl, not much older than 12, with two neatly braided pigtails and a white frock. She sat prim and proper, yet her gaze seemed fixed on something beyond the scene. The first thought that occurred was 'Isn't she a bit young to be here?'

During the auction's lunch break, Wonwoo strolled near the pond and spotted the same girl. She was assisting a mother duck whose legs had become entangled in plastic and a branch. The duck had pecked at her, but the girl's steady and skilled hands worked swiftly to free the distressed bird. The brood of ducklings stood nearby, watching nervously as the rescue unfolded.

Wonwoo was intrigued and wanted to approach but hesitated, not wanting to disturb the scene. The girl expertly untangled the duck's legs and let her rejoin her ducklings in the pond. Returned with a handkerchief filled with breadcrumbs, and started feeding them.

Wonwoo slowly approached them when her voice cut through,

"You shouldn't walk so loudly; you'll scare them away," she told him gently.

"Sorry," he offered, realizing he had been inattentive. "But didn't they hurt you? Why are you feeding them?"

The girl shrugged and replied, "My mother says that sometimes people who are hurt say harsh things because they don't know how to ask for help."

This response left Wonwoo pondering how a young girl like her displayed more wisdom and sensitivity than most of his friends, peers, and even many adults in his life. As a token of their interaction, she offered him a piece of bread to feed the ducks. Their conversation was interrupted when someone called her

"Miss, Let's go".

She handed Wonwoo the handkerchief, instructing him to feed the ducks well, and then left, heading toward a waiting car where a woman in uniform awaited her. Animatedly, she recounted her rescue mission to the uniformed lady, who listened with a smile.

As the car pulled away, leaving Wonwoo behind, he watched the girl's lively chatter and thought to himself, "Cute kid." He then proceeded to distribute all the bread from the handkerchief to the ducks, tucking the now empty cloth into his pant pockets. It was the first time he had been outbid twice in one day, and it left him pondering how he might acquire the land from the mysterious bidder number 28.

The second time Wonwoo felt that profound fear was during his grandmother's final moments. The room was bathed in a gentle, fading light, and the air was heavy with a sense of solemnity. Wonwoo, his mother, and other family members stood around her bedside, their faces etched with sadness.

His grandmother, a wise and gentle presence throughout his life, lay frail. Her breathing was shallow and labored as she approached the end of her journey. Wonwoo's mother, Sunmi, gently held her mother-in-law's hand. The old woman's eyes, once filled with a lifetime of stories, met Wonwoo's, and in those fading orbs, he saw a mixture of love, wisdom, and sorrow.

With the last of her strength, she whispered words that etched themselves deep into Wonwoo's soul. "Wooshik's father must have been lonely for a long time," she said softly, her voice trembling like a fragile leaf about to fall. Then, with those poignant words, she closed her eyes for the final time.

The third time that chilling fear gripped Wonwoo's heart was on a quiet evening, a month after his grandmother's funeral. He sat alone in his London flat, the room illuminated only by the soft glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains.

His phone lit up with notifications. As he picked it up and swiped through the messages, his world shattered. There, on the screen, were photographs of Eleanor's wedding, a vision of her radiant in her bridal gown, sharing smiles and vows with someone who wasn't him. The images were a bitter testament to the future they would never share.

But it was the text message that accompanied the photos that sent a dagger of fear through him. Eleanor's words were cold and final as if she had made a calculated decision. "I didn't want you to know this from anyone else," the message began, and with those words, a sense of dread intensified. "It is what it is. I gave this a lot of thought, and I don't think the future I envision for myself can be fulfilled with you. The skeletons in your family's closets can easily be discovered if anyone digs enough, and I can't have anyone or anything holding me back. I am sorry, goodbye."

It was the realization that someone he had loved, someone he had envisioned his future with, could cast him aside so easily that brought forth this crippling fear. It wasn't just the loss of love but the revelation that people could be ruthless in the pursuit of their own ambitions, leaving behind a trail of broken promises and broken hearts. It was a fear of vulnerability and the harsh realities of the world, one that came crashing down like a tidal wave on that fateful evening.

The fourth time that fear gripped Wonwoo was on the night before the custody case. He had settled into a fitful slumber on the room couch when the sound of whimpering sliced through the silence of the night.

Groggily, he rose from the couch and followed the plaintive sounds to find you. You were in your bed, yet you were not at peace. The covers were tangled around you, and your body was contorted as if caught in the clutches of a terrible dream.

Tears streamed down your face, and you muttered in your sleep, "Sorry, please, no."

Your forehead glistened with sweat, the beads gathering into small, glistening droplets. It was as if you were caught in a nightmare, a place of torment that he couldn't reach.

Without thinking, he reached out and gently took your hand. He couldn't explain the rush of emotions he felt at that moment—the desire to protect, to comfort, to chase away whatever demons haunted his dreams.

For the first time, he realized that this had become more than just a business deal. In that darkened room, Wonwoo's heart clenched with the understanding that he was now deeply invested in this struggle.

....

For Wonwoo, his pursuit of that particular land had festered for a long time, a clandestine ambition kept secret from even his parents. So, when his father mentioned the L/N family, it felt like the stars were aligning in his favor. It no longer mattered what it took; he wanted it, and he was willing to do whatever it required. Even if that meant getting married. He knew your father was a stubborn man, and how do you tempt someone who seemingly has everything? The answer was simple—by getting to the one for whom he had built that empire.

On a Wednesday morning, Chan presented him with your file. Wonwoo hadn't expected you to be so different from what he had imagined, influenced by popular beliefs and presumptions.

"This is interesting," he murmured, his lips curving into a smirk.

Chan, who stood there holding the file, raised an inquisitive brow. "What is?"

The object of Wonwoo's interest was a photograph. In it, You were sitting in a children's park. Your hair shimmered under the sun; a smile played on your lips as you looked down at your phone. He recalled when you stood, barely reaching his chest in height, feeding ducks in that park.

"She's mostly settled in Switzerland," Chan informed him. "She opened and is running a branch of their family's diamond and stones business there."

"Please turn to the next page," He instructed, Wonwoo's gaze locked on the photograph. He glanced up at Chan as the information continued. "We've gathered that the land was initially solely under her name, but a year ago, an unidentified benefactor was also added."

Wonwoo flipped to the next page and saw a photograph of you pushing a blonde child on a swing. "Her child?"

"Secret child. No one is aware of its existence, not even her parents."

"Secret child, huh?" Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, a sinister smile playing on his lips. The little girl is all grown up now. His fingers traced his jawline.

"What about the father?" He inquired.

"Well, it seems like he's not in the picture," Chan mused, "No pun intended."

Chan caught the fed-up look in Wonwoo's eyes.

"Well, then," Wonwoo said, focusing on the bigger picture, "Burbone doesn't seem that far now, does it, Chan?"

A knowing look passed between them.

....

Late at night, the soft amber glow of a desk lamp illuminated the spacious office of Jeon Wonwoo. A crystal tumbler filled with whiskey stood beside a scattered array of paperwork. The gentle clinking of ice cubes accompanied his contemplative thoughts as he swirled the golden liquid in the glass.

His mind drifted back to the series of events that had led him to this point. Meeting you had been a surprise, to say the least. The sweet and easily chatty girl he remembered from his teenage years had transformed into a rose with thorns, sharp-tongued and unapologetically independent.

When you proposed the marriage, he had seen it as an opportunity to create the conditions and situations that would inevitably lead you to give up the coveted land. There was nothing else about you that interested him, and if he could assist you in gaining custody of a child, there was nothing to lose.

Wonwoo had never been particularly interested in having children, despite his parents' persistent pressure. But as he watched you with Noel for the first time when you both slept in the same bed, cuddled due to the fatigue of the wedding and the flight, something shifted within him. The knots in his heart began to unravel, and gradually, he found himself looking forward to coming home.

Whether you were in your home office or the living area, watching Noel play games or having dinner together, there was an inexplicable warmth in these moments. He had started to make sure that he completed his work by 7 in the evening, eager to be part of these family moments.

He had even stopped smoking at home, convinced by his newfound understanding of the health risks it posed to children. Only two months had passed, but he didn't even realize how much he enjoyed talking to you. It was as if, with each passing day, there was something new and enchanting about your routine, and you were becoming more beautiful by the day.

...

It is widely believed that there's nothing scarier than a man who has nothing to lose. Jeon Wonwoo was widely regarded as someone who had very few things he held dear, making it difficult to get under his skin. Profit always took precedence. So why, when Noel's uncle casually claimed that you both had slept together, did it bother him so much?

The feeling was foreign, something he couldn't quite comprehend. It was none of his business, but still, it gnawed at him. The mere thought of it made him uneasy.

He couldn't explain why your laughter in the field upon his loss resonated within him, why it made his heart pound. He couldn't fathom why he felt pride swell in his chest when he saw you getting along with his family and cousins, especially his parents who hold you in such high regard. Nor he could understand why his heart felt like it was being torn into pieces when you looked at him, your eyes filled with what seemed like a betrayal.

He watched you talking to Eleanor on the balcony, contemplating whether to join you. But before he could decide, you stepped out, looking a little tired. Concerned, he thought about calling you,

As Wonwoo cautiously approached you, he observed your hesitation and stopped in confusion. Just as he was about to reach out and touch your shoulder, he overheard the reason you had paused.

"I mean, what else can I expect? I heard Master Wonwoo’s grandfather used to be a constructor and a loan shark. Poor L/Ns, where they've got themselves, trapped into," one of the maids had said.

"But didn't they build the company?" the other maid asked.

"Well, yes, after getting married, Master Wooshik's grandfather gave his father a handsome dowry on the condition if he leaves—"

Their voices were interrupted by a commanding voice, "What are you two busy chatting about? Come here; dinner time is approaching."

"Yes, ma'am."

Wonwoo's gaze was now fixed upon you, concern etched into his features and lips drawn into a line as he sought to understand how these revelations were affecting you.

The words, "They changed their minds the moment they heard the child's worth," echoed in your mind, like a relentless refrain. The weight of it pressed upon you, causing your heart to ache as your anger grew.

As you contemplated confronting the man who had spoken these words, you realized the futility of such an act. The last thing you wanted was to give them more to gossip about, to become the topic of their shallow conversations. Instead, you decided to remove yourself and Noel from the party, away from these people.

With determined steps, you began walking toward the room where Noel was. He observed your actions, his eyes focused intently on you.

However, as you were about to step into the room, Wonwoo suddenly grabbed your wrist, halting you with a yank. His grip was firm, and his voice carried a sense of urgency.

"Let go of me," you gritted your teeth, your eyes sending a clear warning.

"Where are you going?" Wonwoo asked his tone a mix of concern and curiosity.

"None of your business. Let go of me," you insisted, tugging at your wrist in an attempt to free yourself.

But Wonwoo wouldn't release his hold, and you noticed a waiter emerging from the storeroom under the stairs, looking embarrassed as if caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Wonwoo -" you started, but he didn't let go. Instead, he pulled you closer, his voice a harsh whisper in your ear.

"Y/n, stop giving them something more to talk about."

Feeling your resistance wane, you allowed him to lead you into the room. Once inside, you forcefully yanked your wrist away from his grasp.

"Don't you ever dare to drag me like this," you warned, your eyes blazing with anger.

Wonwoo sighed, clicking the lock on the door. He turned to face you, his hands tucked into his pockets. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a single lamp casting a warm aura. The moonlight seeped through the curtains.

"Sorry," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

You glared at him, your frustration and disappointment evident.

"I get it that you're angry," he acknowledged.

"I am not angry at you, Wonwoo," you replied, your voice dripping with exasperation. "I am angry at myself for believing that someone like you could be any different from the others."

Wonwoo furrowed his brow, genuinely puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about," you retorted, stepping closer to him. "You're just as shallow as Nikolai."

The mention of Nikolai's name sparked irritation in Wonwoo. He took a step towards you. "Two billion is all it took for you and your family to accept Noel? I mean, what else can I expect from a man who said that I always weigh my gains before making any deal."

Wonwoo stared at you, aghast. "You'll take the words of gossip over the two months that you've known me, Y/n? Is that your opinion of me?"

"Don't you dare turn this on me, Wonwoo!" you shot back. "This has nothing to do with gossip. This is coming from what I have observed. Just a few weeks ago, your parents, who were so set against the very idea of Noel's name being attached to you, which, mind you, I didn't even ask for, are now treating him as if he's their own."

Wonwoo looked at you, bewildered. "People can have a change of heart, Y/n."

"Of course, they can, Wonwoo," you replied, closing the gap between you. "That's the whole point. The moment they realize this is not just some poor orphan but the heir to a two-billion-dollar company, of course, anyone can have a change of heart."

Unknowingly, you walked even closer, until you were face to face.

"Don't you think you're speaking a little out of turn here, baby girl?" Wonwoo gave a mocking chuckle.

You didn't back down when he stepped into your space. "Do you think my family and I even give a flying fuck about two billion?"

"Did you even bother asking me what I talked about with my father? What I say to him for them to accept Noel?" Wonwoo's irritation was palpable. "No, you just assumed and deluded yourself into thinking that your version of things is the truth, and the rest are just out here to fool you."

Wonwoo took a step forward making you take a step back, his frustration evident. "I mean, what can I expect from a woman who was in love with her best friend's husband and raising his child as if it's her own? Now tell me, who is the shallow one? Who is the one who's feeding into her own imagination?"

The room was filled with tension, as both of you locked gazes.

They say that no one knows a person better than themselves, but sometimes, when our fears and doubts about ourselves are voiced by someone else, it feels like a crushing weight on our chest. It's as though they've laid bare our pride in a fragile glass jar and carelessly shattered it, the shards cutting into our very being.

As you stared at the man in front of you, your legs felt weak, unable to bear the emotional weight of his words. The defiance that had initially burned within you had been replaced by a sense of powerlessness. A lump rose in your throat, choking your ability to respond.

"I knew I should've walked out of your office that day," you whispered, your voice trembling with sadness. The room seemed to close in around you, and you found it difficult to maintain eye contact.

Wonwoo, however, realized his mistake a beat too late. He had seen the pain in your eyes, and at that moment, his breath hitched as he comprehended the depth of his error. It was clear to him that he had screwed up.

You moved away from him, your head cast down as you walked toward the door. But before leaving, you turned to face him and said, "I think we're done here, Wonwoo. My lawyer will be contacting you soon."

"Don't be stupid, Y/N. You know you'll be losing Oasis and Burbone Road as a whole if you divorce me, right?" Wonwoo's voice held a trace of warning.

You met his words with a sardonic smile. "Consider it a gift for everything you've done till now. Either way, you were going to work your way to earn full ownership, of your side projects under confidentiality. Isn't that right, Mr. Jeon?"

"Don't call me that," he grumbled.

"I'll take the blame so you don't have to worry—"

But before you could finish, he cut in. "The court will withdraw your adoption application. We're in a 6-month trial period, and the first visit is in 2 weeks from now."

You closed your eyes briefly, collecting your thoughts. "That's for me to think about. As I told you in the office, I know there is always another way, another door."

He turned his body toward you, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "What would that be? Another husband, or this time you'll go to that bastard, Nikolai?"

Your patience wavered as his audacity pushed you. You felt the fire that had almost extinguished rekindling. He had the nerve to say this when his flimsy NDA paraded around as if after his mother, she held the first claim over him. "Maybe. Maybe this time I'll just go to Nikolai. What's it to you? Maybe I'll consider his proposal." You stepped into his space, poking your finger into his chest.

Wonwoo could feel a growl rising in his throat, and your next words shattered his control. "I mean, he'll be more than happy to oblige. Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do-"

Before you could finish your sentence, Wonwoo grabbed the back of your head and crashed his lips onto yours.

Wonwoo's breath was heavy as he pulled back slightly, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "Repeat that," he demanded, his voice laced with force and a hint of jealousy.

You, equally breathless, didn't back down. "I said, who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do—"

Before you could finish, he crushed his lips onto yours, his kiss passionate and demanding. You broke for a moment, staring at him with heavy breaths, your gaze shifting to his lips. Without hesitation, you both leaned in, kissing again.

He swiftly picked you up, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. His teeth grazed your lower lip, eliciting a moan from you. Your lips disconnected, and the back of his knees hit the mattress. He sat down with your knees on either side of his thighs. His lips found your neck, and his hand creased your backside, giving it a playful squeeze.

"Wonwoo," you breathed out, your voice filled with desire.

He raised his head from the crook of your neck, his eyes dark with passion. "Yes, Babygirl."

Your chest heaved, your lips swollen from the heated kiss. Wonwoo felt two contradictory emotions coursing through him: anger at the thought of others getting to see you like this, and pity that they weren't able to call you theirs.

Your nails scraped gently across his scalp as you both leaned in for another kiss when a sudden knock at the door interrupted the passionate moment. The voice on the other side called your name, and you stumbled out of Wonwoo's grip, your heart racing.

"Ms. Y/N, are you in there?" The voice persisted.

"Yes," you squeaked, clearing your throat, your cheeks flustered.

"Uhm, Ms. Y/N, Master Jeon is looking for you and Young Master, to join him for dinner. Do you—perhaps know where Young Master is?"

"We'll be right there, Cecilia," Wonwoo answered. You looked at him in shock and mouthed, "Unbelievable."

Wonwoo ran a hand through his hair and threw himself back onto the bed. Your heart was still pounding, as if you were a teenager caught doing something you shouldn't be doing.

"Y/N," he began, but you cut him off.

"I'll go first," you said with a hasty glance and fixed your appearance. With rushed steps, you exited the room and made your way to the dining hall, leaving him behind.

Noel was seated next to your father-in-law, and they were engrossed in a discussion about their upcoming fishing trip. You wanted to move him away from that table, but you refrained from creating any scene. Jungkook sat opposite Noel, and you took the seat next to him. Han Joon-hee joined the conversation, Jungkook was telling a tale of the time he had caught a swordfish with his bare hands, and Noel's eyes sparkled with fascination when he heard it. "The swordfish shoved his sword up his ass," Joon-hee added, and everyone at the table burst into laughter.

Eleanor and her husband were conspicuously absent from the dinner table. You and Joon-hee engaged in casual conversation, discussing topics of no particular significance, but your heart felt heavy with the weight of what Wonwoo had said earlier. Throughout the dinner, you intentionally avoided making eye contact with him. The atmosphere remained lively, but there was an underlying tension beneath the laughter.

....

That night, you lay beside Noel in his room, gently running your fingers through his hair as tears welled up in your eyes. As you struggled to hold back the tears, soon sleep engulfed you and a dream began to take shape.

You found yourself sitting in the bedroom of the apartment you used to share with Noella during your college days. Noella appeared, looking just as she did at the age of 22. You bit your tongue to suppress the tears that threatened to fall. She spoke, "The heart is a heavy burden, my love. It's okay to let your eyes shed some of its weight."

Seeing her, you immediately wrapped your arms around her. "I don't know what to do, Ella. I feel like I'm failing. I wish you were here. How could you be so selfish and leave me? How could you leave your son? I'm constantly worried that I'm not doing enough. Whatever I do will never be good enough. How could you be so selfish, Ella? How could you leave your son like this? How could you leave me like this?"

Noella offered an apology with a touch of humor, "I'm sorry, baby. In the next life, I'll send out the memo the night before."

You looked at her, initially offended, but then the two of you broke into laughter.

"You know, Y/n," Noella began, "sometimes the hardest part of letting someone go isn't about filling the voids that formed in their absence. Sometimes, it's about finding the purpose of every piece they've left behind. So let go, Y/n. Let go of the things that are beyond your control. Holding onto the broken shreds will only make you bleed. Your friendship is the best thing that ever happened to me. You were the light that helped me out of the dark, and I am forever grateful that you're here with Noel."

Tears trickled down from both of your eyes.

"I'm sorry that I was too late to realize what Joshua truly meant to you," she confessed.

You shook your head and said, "I'm glad it didn't turn out that way, or else I would've never been able to meet Noel."

"He's a good kid, isn't he?" Noella asked.

"The best," you replied with a fond smile. Then you added, "Good job."

She shook her head, denying the compliment, and said, "No, good job to you. And I'm sorry for looping you into it."

You teased, "You should've thought of that when you were doing it without a condom."

"Touché," she conceded.

You don't remember how long has it been, you rested your head on her shoulder as she caressed your head. She began In a more serious tone, "I've been thinking…"

you raised your head, she continued, "You should name your daughter Iris."

You turned your head toward her, a look of confusion on your face. "Pardon my who?"

You woke up abruptly before you could get your answer as Noel gently shook you, his concerned young eyes filled with worry., you blinked away the remnants of your dream. His small, concerned face hovered over you as he gently said, "You've been crying and calling out Mama's name. Are you having a nightmare, Tante?"

You managed a weak smile and replied, "No, sweetie. It was just a bad dream. I'm okay now."

Still not entirely convinced, Noel added, "Okay, but wake up, Uncle Wonwoo and I have to go fishing with Grandpa and JK."

'Grandpa huh?'

With that, he scampered off to get ready for his little fishing trip with the boys, leaving you to reflect on the bittersweet dream that had given you a chance to converse with the memory of your Ella.

TBC.

A/N: Wonwoo that was a messed up thing to say bruv! But atleast they kissed so welp! When I was writing that scene I just could help but think of that scene from alchemy of soul s2. I think this is the shortest chapter I’ve written of this series. These days I’m feeling as if this work not of people’s liking due to the lack of engagement. Maybe I should put it in a hiatus idk. Let’s see how this chapter does ig.

MSH

#kpop fluff #kpop angst #kpop smut #bts #seventeen #aquamarine #fanfiction #jeon wonwoo x reader #seventeen fanfic #jeon wonwoo arrange marriage au #jeon wonwoo #jeon wonu #jeon jungkook #seventeen arrange marriage au

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levy120 · 1 year ago

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Too Much to Ask For

Rating: T Words: 2800 (Complete) Genre: Angst, Introspection, Missing Scene Lore: Captain Laserhawk (Set Between and During Episodes 2 and 3) Warnings: Explicit Language, Xenophobia, PTSD

Characters: Rayman, Kaiju Rabbids, Red, NPC OCs Summary: Seeing the Kaiju Rabbids that wrecked his home has not been kind to Rayman. He's already not in a good headspace when going into the dreadful Interview that's about to change the rest of his life.

Read also on: [ao3]

More like this: [Rayman Oneshots Masterpost]

For someone who's on TV almost 24/7 Rayman sure doesn't get a lot of time to do anything that's not directly related to his work.

But today, he’s gonna treat himself!

He plans for a nice swim in the pool and the sampling of the new bourbon he'd acquired afterward.

With all of the chaos that's been going on recently, Rayman is going to need this to destress.

252 Dead. Even more injured. From chaos in the streets.

The hardest thing is trying to keep a straight face when reading. To not let it follow him home after work. To not let it bother him.

It's been four days and the number still haunts him.

His heart goes out to the poor civilians who had gotten roped into that tragic incident. Just because… Just because…

No. There's no point in trying to apply reason to that kind of madness.

It's useless. That's all it is.

…

Oh well. Enough of that.

Rayman clambers atop the springboard. The cold water will be good to finally clear his head.

…

Then the earth trembles.

It's not just the bounce of the board either. There are ripples in the water where none should be!

With one eyebrow raised curiously, he lets his gaze drift to the large windowpane revealing the cityscape.

That's just his luck, he supposes as he tries to guess what happened. More terrorists? A distant bomb maybe?

Patience. He's gonna be one of the first to know. It's just a matter of minutes until the news staff from the second floor will come scrambling for him.

Reluctantly, Rayman removes himself from the waiting pool to pick up his bathrobe. The phone nestled within is already blaring.

But it's another sound that makes Rayman freeze in his steps and his blood run cold.

The earth trembles again and this time Rayman's feet are on solid ground to feel it.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

Rayman flies towards the windowpane of the floor - and sure enough - he has to angle his head to see it, but there's the telltale glow of a rift in spacetime.

The cityscape is bathed in a familiar pink glow and-

"Daaaaaaaaaaaawgh"

But he's awake right now; pinches himself just to make sure-

It's real. It’s very, very real.

The pinch in his palm stings.

The deep howl from one of them is actually ringing in his ear.

And out of his periphery, from beyond the corners of what the window allows him to see, there's a shadow looming. A familiar shape that haunts his sleepless nights lumbers towards the city.

They are far from his estate for now, but that's not going to mean much in the long run, when he can feel the earth shaking from the massive weight of their steps even here.

Shit, fuck, shit-

The last time he saw these things he-

No! He can't change the past. Thinking about those he left behind is just going to hurt him in the long run.

The sound of splintering glass catches his attention and makes him step away from the window, as the next quake causes the pane to crack.

On the folding chair behind him, his phone is still blaring.

One of them turns to look in his direction.

Seeing that visage, those empty eyes…

He feels faint in his helplessness.

They're here. He doesn't know how, but they're here. They're going to level another world he calls home and Rayman can do nothing but watch it fall…

…and report on it.

He thinks he's going to be sick. Can he call in sick? Does it even matter when they're all gonna die anyway?

"There you are!" a voice calls, distant. Rayman can't tear his eyes away from the sight outside his window. From the west, he sees the Niji 6 approaching and pound one of the Rabbid Kaijus into another building.

Rayman hopes everyone managed to evacuate in time.

"Mr. Rayman!" the voice calls again, but Rayman doesn't hear it.

"Mr. Rayman, Sir!"

It's like the world comes to a stop when someone lays a hand on his back. He jolts to attention like waking up from a bad trip and turns to find one of the directors from the news team.

"We've been looking everywhere for you!"

Right. Yes. Rayman blinks.

"We gotta run this ASAP," the guy brabbles on, "Why didn't you answer your phone?"

Behind him, in the distance, Rayman hears another building crumple and turns away from the director to stare back out the window.

"Right," the man says and tries to usher Rayman away from the gruesome sight.

"I need you to pull yourself together. Be down in the studio in ten."

Rayman wants to laugh. Or cry. The audacity .

He can't bring up the energy for either; he’s not even sure he can make his way down there in ten minutes, lest of all 'pull himself together'.

His feet stumble, but the stage director isn't commenting on it or leaving his side. Rayman wants to take the elevator, he doesn't trust himself using the stairs - but he's not allowed to for the risk of them getting stuck from the quakes.

He doesn't even know when they arrive at the studio. He feels… positively dead inside.

"Hey," one of his makeup assistants tries to get his attention, "Are you okay? Here, have a drink."

She hands him a glass of water, but his hands are quivering. The water surface ripples like the pool. Another tremor is felt in the studio and for a moment the entire team pauses before shuffling on when it subsides.

…

If they can, then so should he, he thinks, and downs the glass.

From somewhere he's being handed his jacket.

"Better?"

Barely.

"Better."

~ ~ ~

There's chaos in the studio, but it's the familiar kind that comes with breaking news and that very familiarity grounds him.

He's done this hundreds of times before. He can do this.

It's soothing in a way Rayman can barely fathom. His team has him like a safety net. Their chaos means comfort to him. The usual run-of-the-mill.

With a sigh, he wraps the jacket around himself and buttons it with shaky fingers. He leaves the bowtie for his assistant to deal with later.

As he puts on his gloves the guy on the phone with someone out in the field whoops.

"The first one is down!" Someone yells above the turmoil and his team erupts into cheers.

Rayman feels his breath hitch.

Wait…

They're… they're winning?

The faintest hope begins to bloom in his chest and he waves for the make-up artist to stop powdering his face as he leans forward in his seat.

"Can I see the brief before we start?"

"Sure!" One of the journalists walks up to his chair with a bunch of notes. Hasty scribbles of growing numbers.

Estimates of property damage, casualties, and injuries. Likely Suspects.

Rayman's eyes narrow at the familiar names. Bunch of assholes.

Three sightings of Kaijus have been accounted for before the gate closed (One of which has already been neutralized).

The numbers in the notes are atrocious. Most of it is speculation or still changing by the minute. Rayman doubts they’ll be airing this as it stands. And still… it’s good to see that people are on the case.

The police force working restlessly. The Niji 6 standing up against the Rabbids. People on the scene clamoring for the safety of the district. And this is what they’re here to reinforce and focus on.

Evacuation plans and shelter spots for the population while the siege is underway.

Rayman feels like he can breathe again.

…until he sees the Polaroids attached to the back of the notes.

The journalist leaves his side to pick up an update on the report while Rayman's gaze lingers on the photo of the gigantic mutant Rabbid.

It’s… so much worse than he even remembers.

"Those things look so creepy," the woman by his side comments and nudges the sponge back at him so she can continue where she left off powdering his face. She doesn't comment on the nervous sweat clinging to his face.

"Yeah…" Rayman comments off-handedly.

They didn't always use to be like that.

"I'm sorry," she says looking down while brushing his hair, "Did you say something?"

Rayman stiffens. Had he said that out loud?

He shakes his head no as she tends to his bowtie.

"No," he says for extra measure, "Nothing."

"Rayman!" The voice of the stage director who picked him up earlier approaches him from behind.

"We’re going live in two. Hope you're ready."

The Limbless tries to force a smile as he gets up from his chair.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

Rayman takes his place behind the desk. The Lights are glaring when they beam at him. But it helps him to focus and put on his mask. He's read plenty of dreadful news here, the Rabbid Kaijus are no different.

What's important now is the safety of the people in the streets.

He breathes a deep sigh and turns to look at the lead camera to signal them a nod. The gesture is returned and a hand goes up, silently counting down from 3 - 2 - 1 -

“We’re sorry to interrupt at this hour with some Breaking News. Kaiju Rabbids have invaded the Casino District of MegaCity 2. Citizens within the area are asked to evacuate the streets to City Hall or the Eden Mall. The Niji 6 are on the case..."

~ ~ ~

Rayman hasn’t caught a wink of sleep. But neither has his team. The journalists are gathering data and updating their reports relentlessly. Rayman is on his nth Coffee as he drudges through the studio, just in case there's a live update to report on and his presence is needed. He's watching the cityscape from the window. One dead Mutant Rabbid still leans against the wreckage of a building. Alarms are blaring outside. The City’s Neon Lights keep the chaos in the streets aglow even in the middle of the night.

He can feel his head throb at the reminder of the dreadful all-nighter. His heart feels like it's going a mile a minute, and not only due to all the caffeine he's been downing in the past couple of hours.

The anxiety on waiting for good news has been slowly killing everyone present. The dread of bad news weighs over his entire team like a thunderstorm.

Part of his crew have started working in shifts to take a quick nap in between. His make-up artist has been urging him to do the same, because there's only so much eyebags her work can cover up. But Rayman wouldn't dream of sleeping without backup. Not while he knows that what destroyed his old home is still out there wrecking chaos.

The Board of Directors themselves have gotten active about an hour or so ago, requesting to be put up to date on the situation to figure out an approach. As of now, they have yet to respond again.

When they call back eventually it's with a plan, a script, an air-time, and a scheduled Interview. Rayman breathes a sigh of relief as he witnesses the tension lift off of the entire team. What ever would they be doing without the Board of Directors themselves having their back?

With the necessary preparation and info in the bag Rayman himself has agreed to taking the the liberty of getting a little nap before the broadcast; but when the intern wakes him, he doesn't feel any better. If anything Rayman’s more exhausted than before, but he's trying not to let that show.

6 AM rolls around and after going through the usual prep routine, Rayman takes his place for the Morning News to bring people up to date and prepare them for the work day ahead.

He reads his intro with trained confidence, and glows inside at the good news that the Rabbids have been dealth with. The promised Interview turns out to be Lucy at the very scene of the incident. With her is one member of the Niji 6.

…who turns out to be an absolute handful.

It's too early for Rayman to be dealing with this. Lucy futilely tries to reign the 'hero' in, but to no avail.

It's hard just having to listen to the guy. Rayman should have had another coffee before this. It appears that Red is more occupied with some personal beef than the matter at hand. Rayman is trying to figure out how to best navigate the conversation back on track, when-

"Woah, woah, woah. Wait!"

No. The guy didn't just say this. On Live Television. During his show. Rayman is tired. Surely he just misheard… Rude as this guy is surely he wouldn't be this dense!

"What did you just say?"

"What?"

"Interdimensional Alien Scum?!"

That has… got to be a joke, right?

Rayman's head is ringing. Something in the back of his mind flares. Warns him that he ought not take that path.

But he is tired. So, so very tired. Tired from lack of sleep. Tired from this kind of bullshit.

"I was a refugee who came from Dimension X, Sir. Am I scum to you?"

The silence is deafening but Rayman's mind is blaring. No going back now.

He knows that wasn't in the script he'd been given, but if Red can stray, then so can he. He wants answers!

Behind the cameras, his staff implores him to the teleprompter. At the scene of the Interview Lucy is sweating up a storm next to Red and somehow trying to salvage the situation - again, to no avail.

Red's response is callous. Rayman tries to laugh it off, but it's too late. The words sting. His mask cracks. He can’t do this.

The mere act of trying to brush it off as a joke is only fanning the flame - because that's not what this is. It's raw and real and rude and Rayman can't pretend that away.

He's been through too much to have to listen to this kind of shit. Been through too much since coming to this realm. Been through too much just today. He's been up all night just to get this thrown at his face?! He doesn't have the nerve for this… this-

"Then why don't you say it to my face without cameras you FUCKING RED PRICK!"

The studio flies into chaos. The bad kind. The Main Feed is cut and lights go down as staff members try to approach him. The director attempts to get into negotiations with the scene. Back on the street Lucy is still frantically signing for the transmission to be cut but Red seems hardly impressed.

"Hey," he prompts at the camera, pointing for extra measure "Name a time and place, you limbless freak, and I'll be there!"

"I'll show you who's a freak, you speciest cunt!"

"You don't belong on TV! You should be in a fucking lab!"

Oooooh, that does it!

"Rayman!" One of the journalists shuffles in between him and the control monitor connecting the stage to the street. Someone at the soundboard has muted the button in his ear - but no longer having to listen to Red's bullshit doesn't make it unsaid.

Rayman's chest is heaving, his teeth are grit in a painfully locked jaw. He wouldn't be surprised if he’s foaming at the mouth. By Eden, he wants to SCREAM-

"Let us handle this," the Journalist trying to get his attention begs, "Please calm down. Take Five."

Rayman's fingers dig into the surface of the desk. He tries looking around the guy to see the fucking control monitor again, but his colleague is catching on and sidesteps in time to block his view.

"Let's be the reasonable ones here. He's gonna get what he deserves for saying something like this."

Rayman feels his fingers clench. Right. What he deserves.

"And his team did take out the Kaijus, let's try and be positive about this, right? You wouldn't wanna mess with a national hero, right? Rayman?"

Right.

With a grunt that swallows the rage lodged in his throat, Rayman stands from his desk and walks away. He can't do this now. Can't listen to this kind of injustice - to his own face - being played down - by his own colleagues. There's noise in his head.

What he needs is round of sleep. And a shower. And a smoke. And booze. Some, no, lots of it.

What he needs is for Red to get his ass kicked.

Or maybe what he needs is just some mother-fucking compassion!

But sure! That's too much to ask for. Of course. What else is new?

"Fine," Rayman relents with a growl he can’t suppress, "I'll be upstairs. Don’t bother coming for me unless this is resolved."

The Board of Directors will hear about this!

#Rayman #Captain Laserhawk #clabdr #fanfiction #Rayman fanfiction #Captain Laserhawk fanfiction #Missing Scene #Introspection

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aristobun · 12 days ago

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Helene wiped down the last of the beer-stained tables as the jukebox wound down to silence, leaving only the soft murmur of conversations winding up for the night. The bar was nearly empty, save for a few regulars nursing their drinks under dim lights. She spotted Goodnight sitting alone at his usual corner table, his hat pulled low over his eyes, nursing a glass of bourbon with the reverence of a man with too many miles behind him.

Goodnight had been coming in for months, always at that table, always just before closing. He never spoke much, only a quiet “thanks” when she brought his drink. He never smiled, either. His face carried shadows of a life she could only imagine, and his hands trembled slightly as they wrapped around his glass.

Helene felt a pull toward him that she couldn’t quite explain, maybe because she recognized something of herself in his silence. A life that hadn’t turned out quite as expected, roads taken and untaken.

One night, as she approached his table to clear away an empty glass, she found herself asking, “ You need anything else, Goodnight? ”

He looked up, startled, like he hadn’t even seen her coming. His gaze softened, and for the first time, he held her eyes. “ Just.. just the company, if you’re offering, ” he murmured, his voice rough but grateful.

They sat there quietly at first, Helene not pressing him to speak, understanding somehow that silence was a form of trust between them. But as the minutes passed, he began talking in fragments—memories from the desert, the cold nights on patrol, a voice on a radio that haunted him still.

He talked about a brother in arms who hadn’t made it home, and how he didn’t feel he should’ve been the one to come back. His voice caught there, and Helene felt an ache in her own chest, as if she was carrying some of his hurt. She reached over and put her hand gently on top of his.

Goodnight froze for a moment, then gave her hand the faintest squeeze. His eyes closed as he took a deep breath, as though gathering pieces of himself from the darkness. When he finally opened his eyes, they were softer, a little more at ease.

“ Thank you, Helene, ” he whispered.

From then on, Goodnight’s visits became less silent. He’d tell her about his day, something he’d seen, a memory he was trying to piece back together. And in turn, Helene shared pieces of her life—small dreams, half-forgotten plans, a past love who’d left her empty but with the courage to move forward alone.

One evening, as Helene turned out the lights and locked up, she looked out and saw Goodnight waiting by the door. He offered her his arm, something old-fashioned and steady. They walked together through the quiet streets, Helene leaning into him just a little, Goodnight letting�� himself be held up by her strength.

They didn’t say much as they walked, but in that simple, quiet companionship, they found a small solace, two lives knit together against the cold. For the first time in a long time, they were both heading home.

#drabbles #helene marie starling #goodnight robicheaux #starcheaux #blood on my name;#tougher than the rest;

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antiquatedsimmer · 1 year ago

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Once they were back home, Eddy carefully tended to Helena's wounds, his gentle touch contrasting with the violence they had just witnessed. He handed her a flask of bourbon, a bittersweet remedy to numb the physical and emotional pain that lingered within her. With steady hands, he began bandaging her arms and cleaning the blood from her bruised face, offering comfort through his actions.

As the warmth of the fire filled the cabin, a comforting respite from the cold night, Helena found herself lost in a fog of thoughts and emotions. Her gaze fixed upon the intricate patterns of the handcrafted table, her fingers tracing the grain of the wood, seeking solace in its familiar touch. It was in this quiet moment that Eddy set a bowl of soup before her, its aroma wafting through the air, rousing her from her daze.

Breaking the silence, Eddy's voice cut through the stillness, his words carrying a sense of curiosity and understanding. "You weren't just seeking shelter from the rain when we met, were you?" he inquired, his eyes searching for the truth hidden within her gaze.

Helena's voice, soft and laden with vulnerability, broke the silence. "No," she confessed, her words barely above a whisper. "I've been here since last spring."

"Why didn't you say anything? I had no idea I was sending you back to the streets," Eddy questioned, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and regret. The weight of his unintentional ignorance weighed heavily on him.

Helena's gaze remained averted, her fingers nervously tracing the contours of her own wrist. She hesitated, her voice quivering with vulnerability as she finally spoke her truth. "Be honest... what kind of man would allow a whore to live on his property," she admitted, her words laced with self-doubt. Her voice trailed off, and she struggled to find the courage to continue. "I... I was scared of how you would react if you found out."

Eddy let out a sigh, his gaze fixed on a distant memory. "Do you know why I returned back to my cabin?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

Helena tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "You said you took hunting trips, right?" she replied, trying to recall their earlier conversations.

Eddy nodded slowly, his eyes searching for the right words. Right, except… it's not hunting season. And even if it was, my cabin wasn't in the best condition to store anything I would've caught."

Helena furrowed her brow, a mixture of confusion and concern etching her features. " Then?… " "The damn Silver Panic hit us hard," Eddy's voice carried a touch of weariness, his words laced with the memories that haunted him.

"I used to live out in Brindleton Bay, Had myself a beautiful plot there inherited from my family, and grew crops to sell in town. Put my sweat and blood into it."

Eddy's eyes flickered with a mix of longing and regret, lost in the recollection of those early mornings. "On my days off, before the sun had even woken, I'd saddle up and head out to my fishing spots. Watched as the damn world came alive, with the sun painting a goddamn masterpiece over that lighthouse and the ocean stretching as far as the eye could see."

The wistful smile that danced on Eddy's lips soon faded, replaced by a heavy sigh. "It was all good... until that godforsaken stock market went belly up.

Prices of produce went straight to hell, and I found myself up to my neck in debts. The dream I'd nurtured, like them crops I tended, dried up and withered under the weight of financial ruin." " Everything I owned, All that was left of my family, GONE. "

#ye ol stock market crash #The silver panic of 1893 check it out!#Helena Doyle #doyle legacy #Eddy Harrington #Edward Harrington #decades story #decades challenge #decades legacy #the 1890s #1890s #the sims 4 #ts4 #sims story #storytelling #decade challenge #ts4 historical #historical sims #ts4 history challengue cc

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cxrsedmuse · 6 months ago

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avan jogia / cis male / half-indian / he/they ——— is that Lawrence "Laurie" Rutherford on bourbon street ? the 33 / 411 year old ripper who stays in the Central District (Downtown)? they are notoriously known for being charming, intelligent but also manipulative, condescending. which is probably why they are considered THE BLOODTHIRSTY around town. i wonder if they had their tarot cards reading, yet? either way, the cards on the table will reveal their fate soon enough

P E R S O N A L I T Y

scorpio | enfj

+ charming + intelligent + cunning

- manipulative - conscending - apathetic

B A C K S T O R Y

trigger warnings: death

Lawrence "Laurie" Rutherford was born in 1629 to parents to Jane and George Rutherford. In 1660, Laurie fell in love with a woman named Elspeth, who he later learned was a vampire. After a whirlwind romance lasting 2 years, Elspeth turned him in 1662.

Immediately, something was very wrong with Laurie. Elspeth tried to teach him how to be a proper vampire, but he was so much different than she was, so much hungrier. Though he attempted to control his hunger, it felt as if it were mounting inside him of him, growing larger and larger until he finally fed, finally killed.

After five years, in 1667, Laurie was certain he had his hunger under control. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to him, a local vampire hunter was hot on their trial. The hunter was able to take out Elspeth, but spurred on by his rage, by the loss of his great love, Laurie massacred the hunter.

But it wasn't enough and it didn't satisfy him. He needed more. He went on to hunt and kill the entire group of vampire hunters and their families. Anyone associated to them even in name was taken out.

For two hundred years, he continued on like this, playing with his food and reveling in it as he traveled the world and killed, killed, killed.

In 1833, however, he met Claire Pragonis. For the first time in his 166 years of vampire-hood, he felt something other than hunger, vengeance, and hatred. Claire was another problem entirely, though. Her desire to be turned, the feelings she brought out. He never actually planned to turn her, but when she got sick in 1837, he had no choice.

Once she was a vampire, he knew he had to get away from her. As much fun as it was to play and flirt and even pretend at love for a moment, he knew that it couldn't last under any circumstances.

After leaving Claire, he continued about his ripper ways, until it finally caught up with him. In 1942, he met Damon Salvatore in New Orleans and the two became fast friends. Though Damon recognized his ripper ways and made quick work of detaining him.

Now, nearly a hundred years later, in 2040, he's awake and hungrier than ever.

P L A Y L I S T

✮ brand new city ;; mitski // I think my fate is losing its patience, I think the ground is pulling me down, I think my life is losing momentum, I think my ways are wearing me down

✮ flourscent adolescent ;; arctic monkeys // everything's in order in a black hole, nothing seems as pretty as the past though

✮ insomnia ;; the moss // lately i'm dissatisfied, paralyzed, i've tried it all, hold me tight, come home tonight, say i'm the best, i know i don't deserve it

✮ i haunt ur dreams ;; hey, nothing // i can't find my feet anymore, my hands are drifting through the floor, i'm haunting you, you don't see me walk through the walls, and you're ignoring all my calls

#bio #inaduintro #* . ⊹ 𝕃.ℝ. › bio

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age-of-greta · 2 years ago

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The Lovers

The Lovers represent relationships and choices. Its appearance in a spread indicates some decision about an existing relationship, a temptation of the heart, or a choice of potential partners. Often an aspect of the querent's life will have to be sacrificed; a bachelor's lifestyle may be sacrificed and a relationship gaine, or one potential partner may be chosen while another is turned down. Whatever the choice, it should not be made lightly, as the ramifications will be lasting.

Author’s note: hi!! as always, this fic has two time jumps, then and today. I proofread by typos happen! The LAST (omg) chapter will be out next Wednesday at midnight. Then the epilogue will be out the next week. Can’t believe it’s coming to an end!! Enjoy :)

Pairing: Jake x reader & Sam x reader

Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, angsttt, adult content

Word count: 4k

PART 12:

THEN:

“Sammy there’s no way in hell I’m doing that again.” You said.

You had just beat Sam in a hand grenade chugging challenge and you were slumped. It was your last night in New Orleans. The guys played at a festival here yesterday and they killed it. You were now all out on bourbon street drinking and getting into trouble.

“It was that goddamn gumbo!” Sam exclaimed, still recovering.

“We are going to miss the ghost tour, let's go!” You hear Danny yell at you two.

You grab Sam’s hand and drag him to catch up with the others. Jake eyes you strangely when Sam continues to hold your hand. You had let go, but Jake still seemed off about it. Everyone was buzzed to say the least, and you were about to embark on a haunted pub crawl. You all finally made it and got on the bus just in time, there were three bars you would be visiting tonight, each with special stories and drinks. The first two stops went smoothly. Everyone had gotten along and enjoyed the drinks and tales. It was the third stop that had gotten a little weird.

“Shit I’m drunk.” Josh says , entering the final bar for the night.

You giggle at him. “Me too Joshua, me too.”

Josh links arms with you as you two make your way to the bar. Jake had been acting strangely all night. He wasn’t necessarily snippy with you, but something was pissing him off. He was standing near you and Josh, while Sam and Danny had found their way a few people over from you.

“This next drink is called the devil’s delight. It has been said that the circles of hell reside under this very bar.” The bartender says, holding up a bottle of fireball.

“Oh hell yes.” You hear Josh say.

Jake snakes his hand around your waist while you all wait, you lean slightly into him. You look over and his expression is somewhat blank. When he looks over at you a small smile creeps over his face.

“Enjoying yourself, lover?” Jake asks.

You smile back at him. “Yes. Maybe a little too much.”

Jake snickers at that. Now is your chance to try and get some information.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” You ask, casually.

Jake takes a small breath and nods. “Of course. I’m getting my favorite things, booze and you.”

There are cups of the drinks being passed around. Jake grabs two and hands you your cup.

“Are you ready to be delighted by the devil my darling?” You ask dramatically.

Jake smirks at you. “Bottoms up baby.”

You clink your glasses and choke down the cinnamon liquid. Whew, it was strong.

“Fuck.” You say setting your cup down.

Jake chokes back a laugh. “Yeah. That’ll do it huh.”

The bartender makes another round of drinks for his next story and you, Jake, and Josh shoot those back as well. When the story is over Danny and Sam find their way over to you.

“We ordered everyone another devil’s delight.” Sam announces.

You make a face. “I don’t know if I can do another one, Sammy.”

Sam laughs at you and throws his arm around you. “Oh come on you can take it.”

You notice Jake’s expression and he looks like his bad mood is coming back.

“I really don’t think I can.” You say.

Then the drinks arrived and everyone took one. Sam takes two and hands you the other.

“Give mine to Josh. He enjoys it way more than me.” You say with a laugh.

Sam squeezes the grip on your shoulder and smiles big at you. “Come on sorority girl! Do it for me.”

“She said she doesn’t fucking want it.” Jake spits out. “And why the fuck do you always call her that? She doesn’t need a pet name from you.”

Sam makes a face at his older brother. “What is your deal?”

Josh clears his throat before Jake can respond. “Hey, looks like the bus is back! Come on guys- oh and Sam I will take the extra one- thank you.”

Josh takes your cup and grabs Sam, dragging him towards the door. Danny looks at you and raises his eyebrows before walking off. You look back at Jake, who has finished his drink and is running his fingers through his hair.

“You ready?” You ask, cautiously not wanting him to bite your head off too.

“Yep.” He stands up and takes your hand.

That was weird? Why is he upset that Sam calls you the name he always has since you met? You figured Sam had probably pissed Jake off prior and now Jake was just looking for reasons to lash out on him.

The rest of the bus ride back was normal. Jake acted as if nothing was wrong and drunkenly held your hand and pointed out all kinds of sights on the way back to bourbon street. When you finally returned, you had all decided to call it a night. Sam’s buzz had dwindled immensely and you could tell he was still pissed at Jake. Nevertheless you all ubered back to your hotel like nothing was wrong.

“Jake, you have to take off your shoes.” You say through laughs as Jake lay face down on the bed.

He groans in response and reluctantly sits up and gets them off. He strips down to just his underwear and crawls under the blankets, making a patting motion next to him for you to join.

“I’m going to grab some water from vending machines in the hall. It looks like we’re going to need it.” You say, grabbing your wallet and heading out the door.

When you make it to the vending machine you see Sam standing there pondering at the snack options. Then you smell it on him.

“Holding out on me Sammy?” You ask approaching him.

Sam jumps a little. “Jesus, you scared me. But, yes sorry I didn’t know if you would be up for it.”

You give him a smile. “It’s okay, I definitely didn’t need it. I’m about to buy out all the water in this machine as we speak. Jake has passed out already.”

“Ah I see.” Sam says, a little weary of that name.

You bite your lip, suddenly aware of the tension. “I’m sorry he bit your head off. I’m not sure why he’s in a bad mood but the alcohol didn’t help.”

Sam furrows his brows and looks down at you. “Did he go off on you too?”

“No, not at all.” You clarify. “I think he’s probably mad about something minuscule that happened during the festival. You know how he can be.”

Sam nods his head. “Right, I'm sure that’s it.”

After getting your water, Sam selects his snacks and looks over at you. “If you want you can come to my room and we can smoke.”

You give him a soft smile. “Raincheck? I’m exhausted and need to get a start on packing.”

“Sure. Next time then.” Sam responds.

“Goodnight Sammy.” You say, starting to shift back towards your room.

“Goodnight.” He responds nodding his head.

You and Jake had woken up the next morning and immediately decided to grab some greasy breakfast.

You found yourselves at a 24 breakfast diner, washing down aspirin with coffee and orange juice.

“So, I have news.” Jake says, sipping his coffee.

“Do tell.” You respond.

Jake takes a breath. “Well we booked another mini tour.”

Your face lights up at that. “Jake, that's amazing!”

He shrugs. “Yeah, I just found out about it yesterday. It’s in Europe.”

Your heart sinks a little. “Oh wow.”

“Mhm. It’s about a month long, this summer.” Jake says, fumbling around with his napkins.

“That’s great. I’m so happy for you, truly. Congratulations.” You say, trying to sound as sincere as possible.

“Would you like to come?” Jake asks, cautiously.

You let out a small laugh. “To Europe? For a month? Sounds beyond fun and all, but I think I’ll have to keep my tag along trips on the weekends- and probably stateside.” You respond.

Jake sucks in his cheeks. “Understandable. Just know the offer stands.”

You smile at him. “I appreciate that. Now, can we order some damn waffles?”

The dreaded goodbye time had come along. Jake was flying back to Atlanta with you for a few days, but you had to say bye to everyone else. Your flight was before the Nashville flight, so when your uber arrived you had to say goodbyes quickly while Jake loaded up.

“Bring it in mama.” Josh says, pulling you into a hug.

“I trust we’ll be seeing you soon.” Danny says, a statement more than a question.

When you got to Sam he was standing with his hands in his pockets. You embraced him in a hug.

“Call me when you make it home?” You ask, still nuzzled in his chest.

“Absolutely.” Sam replies, lightly patting your back.

“Bye Sammy. Be safe.” You say ending the hug.

Sam offers you a smile. “Bye. You too.”

That was now two encounters where Sam did not use your nickname. There would be many more.

***

TODAY:

It had been a month since you saw Jake. You had tried to call a few times, but it was to no avail. You spoke to Sam on the phone two times since he had left. The first time was a day after he had gotten back. He told you how pissed Jake still was, but he thought they would move past it eventually. The second and last time was a week after that. It was a brief call, just checking in on you. You tried to ask about Jake, but just got vague bullshit. Sam had texted you sporadically, but nothing meaningful.

How are you? Thinking about you. I hope you’re doing okay. I miss you.

Were the the common ones. You knew he was being cautious because of Jake. But you didn’t feel like interacting with Sam much either. You were too sad. You couldn’t think of Sam without thinking of what happened.

Two days before Christmas a package arrived for you. It was a vintage Bob Dylan poster from one of his early shows. The only note attached said:

Ordered this a few months ago. It just came in, I have no use for it.

It wasn’t signed, but you knew Jake’s handwriting. That made you spiral again. But you had been trying to let go. To get over him, it wasn’t working.

Other than wallowing in your self pity, you had taken up yoga more seriously. It calmed you and gave you a reason to leave your apartment on the weekends. Your mom had commented that you looked “good” when you came home for Christmas. But you felt anything but good. Nevertheless you faked it for two days, before returning to your usual 10pm crying session. Lana had been there for you through all this. She was heaven sent actually. But tonight you did not want her encouragement at all.

Danny’s birthday/New Years celebration was tonight. You felt sick about going. In fact you absolutely did not want to go. The thought of seeing Jake made you want to vomit. How were you supposed to act around Sam? It was the worst idea for you to go. But you felt like shit because it was Danny’s birthday, and you hadn’t been uninvited. In fact Danny had texted you telling you that you were still more than welcome to come and he missed you. You felt like that may have been a cop out, but Lana was also invited and she bugged the shit out of you to go. Danny had decided to have his birthday celebration in Atlanta and you knew they had all landed yesterday. Originally they were all supposed to stay with you, but that was out of the question now. You hadn’t left your apartment in two days from paranoia of running into them. Even at the damn yoga studio. Danny had rented out the bar that you took them to after the first concert you went to of theirs. It was right down the street from your office.

You had switched up your look a little. You added blonde highlights, got sewn in hair extensions, started self tanning regularly, and professionally whitened your teeth. You thought it would make you feel better, it didn’t. Lana took you to get your nails and toes done three days ago, you had chosen black for both. You knew she was taking you because you had the party coming up, but you didn’t question it. There you sat now staring at yourself in the mirror. You had just showered and you were wrapped in a towel. Even though you had dried off your face it was wet, you realized you were crying. Fuck. How could you even go about pulling this off. Lana had texted you an hour ago that she would be over soon to get ready and pregame. You splashed yourself with water and decided to make a cup of tea to calm your nerves. Then Lana showed up, cheery and peppy at the door with two dress bags and a bottle of wine in hand.

“Hey you gloomy bitch! Lose the sad face, tonight is going to be fun.” She says as she hugs you in the doorway.

You huff out and try to smile. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Three hours later and you were both ready to go. Lana looked so cute, she wore a silver metallic dress with black heels. She has also bought you a dress, it was something you might have never chosen for yourself but you loved it. It was an emerald green square necked glitter bodycon dress with long sleeves. It was tight, but not uncomfortable. It was short and it complimented your tan perfectly. You paired it with gold strappy heels and gold large snake earrings that had emerald gems as eyes. Your hair was blown out with waves, full and significantly more blonde than you even realized. You had put on sparkly body oil and enough perfume to choke a horse. You had a full face of makeup, with extra lashes on, and a matte pink lip. You had a little more than half a bottle of wine and you were feeling yourself. You knew you looked hot, and you had hoped that Jake might think so as well. You both giggled as you plopped into the Uber, you were ready to face tonight.

When you and Lana pulled up outside of the bar your nervousness was back. She took your hand and gave it a squeeze before you entered inside. The bar had a good amount of people there, maybe 30 in total. John Denver played on the jukebox as you entered the bar. You took a deep breath and put on your bravest face. You wouldn’t allow your eyes to wander a lot because you were terrified to make eye contact with Jake.

“Oh my god hi guys!” You see Danny beeline for you two. He hugs Lana then hugs you. “I’m so glad you made it!”

You smile at him. “Happy Birthday Danny.”

“Thank you!” Danny smiles back. “The bar is over there if you guys want some drinks.” He points over.

Then you see him. His eyes are burning holes into you. But he’s not alone. He’s sitting at a booth with a blonde girl. Holy fucking shit. It’s Jessica. Jessica who has a huge crush on Jake and he brought her here. You watch him flick his eyes off of you and turn to Jessica and smile and put his arm around her while she talks. Her hands are all over him. She looks beyond tacky in a rose gold metallic tank dress with bright red lipstick. You knew you didn’t have a ton of room to speak on it, but damn he moved on fast and it hurt. You felt a tug at your hand and it snapped you out of your daze.

“Oh perfect thank you.” Lana said to Danny.

You gave him a small smile as Lana dragged you towards the bar.

“Don’t look at him. It will make it harder. I’m getting us tequila sodas.” Lana says motioning to the bartender.

“Hey mama.” Josh says as he approaches you.

You give him a weak smile, he and Jake rarely have secrets so you’re sure he has heard all about it. “Hi Josh.”

He pulls you into a hug and kisses your forehead. “I’ve missed you, we all have.”

You can't even begin to know how to reply to that.

“I hope you two have a lovely night, and always know I am here if you need me.” Josh says with a genuine smile.

You give him a nod and try to keep your hands from shaking as he walks away.

Lana gets your drinks and guides you to a table three rows back from Jake. You can still see him from where you’re sitting but don’t let Lana know or she would make you switch sides with her. You and Lana have a few drinks rather quickly. It’s about 10:40. You had decided you would stay for the cake, but would be gone before midnight as you didn’t care to see Jake kiss Jessica. Right on cue a decent sized cake is brought out with sparklers on top. Everyone stands up and claps before starting to sing Happy Birthday to Danny. You notice Jessica standing and clinging onto Jake’s arm with her head on his shoulder. You want to die, but continue to smile as Danny blows out his candles.

“I’m going to grab us another round.” You say to Lana as you get up and head to the bar.

Once there you order and patiently wait. Out of the corner of your eye you catch Sam standing a person over from you. You weren’t sure how to navigate this. Sam catches a glimpse of you and gives you a small smile before walking to you.

“You look nice. I like the hair.” He says almost awkwardly.

“Oh thanks, so do you.” You say back with the same awkwardness.

“Here’s your tequila sunrises miss.” The bartender says, sitting your drinks in front of you.

You thank him and grab the glasses. Sam smiles down at your drink of choice.

You huff a laugh. “I know I’m predictable. I’m going to take this to Lana. It was good seeing you Sammy.”

He flinches ever so slightly at that familiar nickname. You try not to notice or feel somber at that fact. “Yeah, it was good to see you too.”

Sam gives you a smile, but you can’t tell there is much more he wants to say to you. You smile back before walking away. You return with your drinks and try your best not to look at Jake. This night was nowhere near as fun as Lana pitched it, but she kept making flirty eyes with a guy from across the bar.

“Go talk to him.” You say.

She scoffs at you. “No, I'm not leaving you alone.”

“Lana, I'm a big girl. I’ll be fine, I promise. Go shoot your shot.” You reply with a smirk.

“Okay fine. But I’ll be back.” She says getting up from the booth.

You swirl your drink around with your straw trying not to look like the loneliest loser here. About 25 minutes pass by and you notice a significant change in music as Lord Huron’s The Night We Met comes on the jukebox. You glance over and see a happy couple punching it in. Gross. This song is not only a vibe killer for the party atmosphere, but also guts you slightly. You look up from your drink and see Jake peering back at you.

I had all and then most of you. Some and now none of you.

Take me back to the night we met.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do haunted by the ghost of you.

Oh take me back to the night we met.

You see Jake take a deep breath and get up and lightly smack the table before walking away. You can feel the threat of tears brimming in your eyes and you decide you’ve had enough. You call an Uber on your phone but it says it won’t arrive until 12:05. Damnit. It’s 11:45, but you decided you would rather spend the rest of the time freezing outside waiting, than do further damage to your sanity. You say goodbye to Lana. She raises her eyebrows high at you, but you whisper assuring her you’re fine and you want her to stay and have a good time. You find Danny before you leave and hug him, he also looks at you worried but doesn’t say anything. It’s freezing outside, but you still feel numb. You had bummed a cigarette from a fellow patron outside, but shut down his attempted conversation. You stood on the wall outside, alone now dragging the end of your cigarette. You can hear the 60 second countdown until the New Year beginning. You put your cigarette out and flick it in the trash can. You take a deep breath and they’re in the twenties. You hear the door open but don’t think anything of it until someone is standing right next to you.

You glance over and your eyes almost pop out of your head when you see Jake.

He isn’t looking at you. They’re in the tens now.

5…4…3…2…1… Happy New Year!

Jake walks in front of you and grabs your face lightly. He caresses your cheek with his thumb and looks down at you with soft eyes, you hadn’t seen those in a while. You look up at him, you probably look like a deer in the headlights, not daring to move to say anything. Jake dips in and plants a deep kiss onto your lips. You can taste the whiskey and nicotine on him. You kiss back, absolutely bewildered at what is happening, but he breaks the kiss as fast as it started. He lets out a small shaky breath before he taps the side of the building with his fist. He doesn’t even look at you again, then walks straight back inside. Not a word spoken between the two of you.

What the fuck?

Your head is spinning and your heart is pounding. You have never felt more confused in your life, and you’re not sure you didn’t just hallucinate that whole thing. A few minutes later you still haven’t recovered as your Uber pulls up. You climb inside and look out the window at the bar as you pull away.

You wake up the next morning with a text from Sam.

Hi, sorry I missed you leaving last night. I will be in Atlanta until the 4th if you want to grab lunch or something. I hope you’re doing okay.

You groan at the text message. You have no idea what to respond, so you leave it for now. Last night quite literally felt like a fever dream. You still can’t make sense as to why Jake had kissed you. But he kissed you at midnight, not Jessica. That made you feel better but also somehow worse? Would spending time with Sam make things better or worse? You had no idea. Lana had texted you that she had gone home with the guy from the bar. At least she had a good night.

Today was about self care. You ran a hot bath and made a coffee and sat there staring at the wall for an hour. Then forced yourself to do your whole skincare routine. You threw on a pair of pajama shorts, a large band tee, and fuzzy socks. Then you made a turkey wrap with grapes before sitting on the couch and turning on a horror movie. You sat there all day only getting up to pee and make popcorn. Around 8pm there was a knock at your door. Ugh you didn’t want to get up and you didn’t want to hear Lana rave about her new hookup. You placed the popcorn down on the table and dusted off your hands. Your favorite part of the Conjuring had just come on. You shuffled over to the door and began undoing your locks. When you opened it your heart skipped a beat.

Jake was standing there with his hands in his pockets.

***

- thanks for reading!! :)

#greta van fic #greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #jake gvf #jake kiszka #jake kiszka x reader #sam gvf #sam kiszka #sam kiszka x reader #the lovers

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